And I Shall Go On
by Dreamwraith
Summary: Yamcha is not the terrible man most people make him out to be. He left his home and everything that he knew for love, and she betrayed him. Who is the man behind the scars? The series might not say, but I intend to. *Ch18 finally up*
1. Chapter One

_Added as of 11/30/03:_ From the manga I have read, Yamcha was said to be too "non-committal" – and I don't blame him. He wasn't the cheater. If you feel the desire to say otherwise, by all means go ahead. I appreciate it. But I will not be changing this story.

_This story was brought about because of two authoresses on this site, and because I am sick and tired of seeing fics centered around bashing Yamcha. Velasa, for speaking with me late into the evening about Yamcha (and Nameks), and Kuwa-chan, for giving me Yamcha's history and for general support. Kuwa-chan's also caught nearly every error I made ahead of time. They deserve the credit for me tackling this project._

**Standard Disclaimer:** I do not own DBZ.

* * *

**"And I Shall Go On"  
****By: Dreamwraith**

Mortal men have always had kings, for as far back as oral history extends. One, two, or more, they have always existed. Some came to power through shadowed means, others through blood, and still more through war and fighting. Each king has a queen, a woman who has stood beside them through their endeavors. And no matter what may come, they command the respect of their people.

There is but one king of the desert, one man feared and respected by all in that barren wasteland, where the only rule is survival of the fittest. His name is feared throughout all rural villages, and respected beyond that. He is a bandit and a thief, and he is a brave warrior, loyal and true. This is his story, the story of how far one thief would go for his princess, and of how he changed…for her.

And of how far you can go before you fall.

* * *

**Chapter One**

"Hey, man, don't be too hard on yourself. There was nothing you could do about it."

Yamcha stared dully at the mug in Krillin's hand. The steaming coffee inside had always been enough to calm his nerves previously. Heck, he'd had some before he'd gone off to fight the Saiyans, and it had helped. Kami knows, it had helped too much. It just didn't seem to be doing anything for him now. Could it have simply been the atmosphere of the Kame House that had the relaxing effect on him? He wasn't so sure – it wasn't working now. He said nothing, ignoring his friend's proffered hand.

Krillin slid into the seat next to his long-time friend at the kitchen table. For once, the man wasn't wearing his orange fighting gi, as he usually did while at the Kame House. Of course, most of his visits there were for training and sparring. Right now he was wearing a pair of black pants, a white shirt, and dress shoes. The shirt was a tad wrinkled, but knowing Yamcha it was a big concession. "C'mon, Yamcha, you know you should have something to drink," the monk said gently, waving the coffee about slightly, allowing its aroma to drift to the ex-bandit. "You need something in your system."

The larger man hesitated for a moment only before accepting the drink, gazing out the window as he did so. The sky was beginning to darken, the sun's dying rays sending bright streaks of color across the horizon. A few of the stars were visible as well, and Yamcha sighed wistfully. The last night spent at his desert home had been almost exactly like this, and he had spent a good part of _that_ night wondering what she'd think of him, moving to the city. He sipped at the coffee, hissing as the tip of his tongue was singed.

"I know, Krillin," he said after his mouth had cooled. "I still wish I knew why she went to _him_, of all people. I thought we had a future together, Bulma and I, but I should've known better. Especially after she told me about dreaming of kissing him. If only I had known, I could have changed things." He slammed the mug down onto the table angrily, bringing Master Roshi into the room faster than he could blink.

"Yamcha, Bulma's always been fickle. You know that," Krillin said carefully. Two of the three people involved were good friends of his, people he had known for at least half of his life. He had to remain neutral, or he would risk being dragged into the problem. "Once she made up her mind, there was no way you could have changed anything for her. She's just like that."

"I know. Just why can't she realize how much I've done for her? How much we've done together? She just threw it all away!" The bandit buried his face in his arms, torn between disgust and tears. He was no longer that young any more, he knew. Is that why she had passed him up? Was Vegeta more vital, more alive than he had been? Than he was now?

Krillin glanced up at the Turtle Hermit helplessly. What do I do now? he mouthed, unwilling to leave his friend in tears at the table. Sure, he'd cried when he broke up with Maron, but they hadn't been dating for years. And they'd only discussed getting married once. They'd never gone so far as to actually buy the ring, though. Yamcha apparently had.

Master Roshi came up behind his one-time student. "There, there, Yamcha m'boy," he said, patting his shoulder. "I can't fault you for what she did, but you should've expected something like this could happen. You can never trust a woman who would show her underwear to other men for something." He could barely contain his crackling laughter as an image of a teenaged Bulma appeared in his mind, flipping up her pajamas for him so he'd give her his Dragonball. Though what had happened wasn't exactly what either of them had expected.

"Master, I was going to marry her," came the response after a moment of silence. He lifted his head away from his arms; his eyes were red with unspilled tears. He stood up silently, save the scraping of the chair against the floor. Then he walked through the living room and out the door.

Krillin followed him as far as the doorway, stopping on the front porch and watching as his friend sat down on the beach, under the palm tree. He watched as he gazed up into the sky, looking at the recreated moon. He watched as the man he called his friend brought his knees up to his chest and rested his head on them. And he watched as Yamcha began the silent recollection of his memories with Bulma, the woman he loved and thought had loved him in return.

* * *

The setting sun cast its golden orange rays over the desert sands, giving the small oasis the appearance of fire. The sand blown about by the unceasing winds glowed in the sun's dying rays, creating the illusion of a firestorm in progress. It was truly an impressive spectacle, one that many men would give their right arm to glimpse once in their lives.

A lone figure stood by the water, his figure outlined by the sunset. The clothes he wore were loose and billowed in the wind, typical of any desert dweller, although it did not take a trained eye to see that he was not typical. At his side was a sword, carried through countless battles and doubtless as sharp and as biting as the desert sands during a windstorm. He wore a red bandanna about his head to keep his long, curly hair out of his eyes. He was a warrior by nature and a bandit by trade.

At first glance, one would have thought that the man had a deformity of some sort; one of his shoulders seemed to be significantly higher than the other. Had anyone actually been watching, they would have seen something separate from his shoulder and neck. "Yamcha," that 'something' piped, "are you sure you want to do this? It's your _life_. You shouldn't be rushing things."

"I know, Pu'ar," the man said, "but I know this is what I want. I can't hide from the world now that I've gotten a taste of it." As he spoke, he turned his head toward the small creature that had been nestled into his shoulder. "This is what I have to do." The man was rather young, perhaps in his early to mid-twenties, rather handsome and athletic to boot. He carried himself with pride, and his voice reflected that.

"And besides," he added after a moment in a bemused tone of voice, "Bulma needs me. She'll need the company, since her adventure with Goku just ended."

This girl, Bulma, was the heiress of Capsule Corp, one of the largest enterprises in the world. She was a scientific genius in her own right, and she invented new and useful things every so often, some of which aided her on her adventures with Son Goku. The young woman in question had met Son Goku when she was sixteen, and she had run into Yamcha not long after that. She was easily the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on, with shoulder-length blue hair, wide blue eyes, and a dazzling smile. It was love at first sight, noticeably so on her part. At the time, he had been deathly afraid of the female gender, and when confronted by one the bandit would falter, his nose would bleed, and it became necessary for him to "retreat". It wasn't that he was _afraid_ of women, exactly, but he hadn't been around a female since he was very young. Sure, he'd seen a few, but only from a distance. He'd learned he couldn't handle women from one particularly disastrous caravan ambush…and he never made a mistake more than once.

Bulma had been more trouble than she was worth then, but he eventually learned how to cope with her, as they searched "together" for the Dragonballs. She had wanted the perfect boyfriend, and he had wanted to be rid of his fear of girls. They had to work with each other; she had the Dragonball Radar to guide them, and he had the swift, reliable transportation. She'd been a pain the first few nights they spent together as a group: the two of them, Pu'ar, Son Goku, and Oolong, a shapeshifter whose natural form was a pig. Fitting, he thought wryly. Their constant arguing eventually shifted to playful teasing, and respect. And then he had fallen in love with her. Honestly, truly, in love.

He recalled the first time he laid eyes on her with a sigh. He had been about to pulverize Goku, who was merely a boy at the time, albeit a rather strong one. Yamcha had had the upper hand in the fight; even though Goku was stronger (not by much, he added with quiet pride), the boy was inexperienced in real fighting. Then Bulma had awoken from her sleep under one of the many interesting rock formations in the desert. She sat up, yawned, and asked what was going on. Then their eyes locked, and the bandit's face flushed crimson. He did not believe in love at first sight until that moment, where a heartbeat can last an eternity. He'd thrown the fight to the boy and left, swearing to himself that he would see her again. And he did, through their many adventures.

_Bulma,_ he thought. _What a beautiful name for such a beautiful girl._ She wasn't all that much younger than he was. They had been seeing each other for some time, but since she had put her adventuring with her monkey-tailed friend on hiatus she hadn't been around to see him. This saddened the bandit greatly. Bulma was the only woman he could be near…they were perfect together. Where she was rash and impulsive, he was calm and pensive, almost shy (except when angered…but that is a different story altogether). She was the firebrand. He was the stream. They balanced each other out. Yamcha knew they were meant for each other. The only problem was, did she?

"Yamcha, please give it some time. Think about it," Pu'ar reasoned. "You've been away for a while. You haven't seen her in a few weeks, not since Oolong outwitted that Pilaf character. What if she has a new boyfriend?"

Yamcha glanced over at his shapeshifter friend. Pu'ar had been his traveling companion for a few years; he'd met her two years before Bulma and Goku had crossed his path. She assumed the form of a cat most of the time, but he could never be sure if that really was her true form or not. You never can tell with shapeshifters. She was not too keen on leaving their lifestyle of many years behind them, but he knew that she would not try to dissuade him from doing something without good reason. Another man in the picture would be a very good reason. But how would he know unless he went to see Bulma?

"Pu'ar, I have to see her. I don't care if she does have another man in her life right now. I need to tell her that I love her. If she doesn't want me around, then I will leave," he said with a sigh.

The shapeshifter sighed as well, resigned. They had gone through this particular discussion at least four times today, and she knew she wouldn't be able to change his mind. She had to try, though, to keep him from making what could be the worst mistake of his life. If Bulma had displaced Yamcha, where would he go? What would he do? A different sense of adventure had taken up residence in her human companion's heart, and all she could do right now was advise him as a true friend should. "Yamcha," Pu'ar said after a moment, "promise me that you will sleep on it before you do anything."

The young man shrugged. "All right. I promise."

* * *

Y'know, it's almost challenging to write a good Yamcha story, since nearly everyone out there bashes him to high heaven. Let me know how I did – for better or for worse – and thanks for reading.

-Dreamwraith


	2. Chapter Two

_A big thanks goes out to Contrail, for correcting an error in the previous chapter that I have now removed. I appreciate it._

* * *

**Chapter Two**

"Master Roshi," Krillin said softly, sensing more than hearing the old man step up behind him. "Is there something I can do to help him? I feel awful."

Master Roshi, the Turtle Hermit, shook his head slowly, though his student could not see the motion. "No, son," he replied, "I'm sorry. The only thing we can do for him is to leave him be, for now. And when he gets over this stage, we can be there for him. That's all we can do." He fingered his trademark glasses, pushing them up on the bridge of his nose so he could see the ex-bandit more clearly. The boy – well, man, really, but everyone was a boy to him – was shedding his tears silently, as was befitting a strong man. He would get through this, but in how many pieces, the old master did not know. Yamcha had taken a serious blow to his pride and to his heart, and it would take more than one evening to recoup.

Yamcha had also taken great pride in his reasoning capabilities, and he now thought they were damaged, flawed, because he had chosen the wrong woman to be his own. And now he was paying for it.

Roshi turned away from his two students and walked back into the house, through the living room and into the kitchen, where he nearly tore a drawer out of the cupboard in his haste. He pulled a phone book from its shadowy recesses and tossed it onto the table, where it landed with a _thunk_. Then he thumbed through its pages until he came across a familiar name: Mao, Gyu. The Ox-King.

He quickly grabbed the telephone and dialed the number, chuckling as he did so. Apparently his former student had decided to indulge himself in modern technology – he had a phone. Heck, next thing you know, he might just have a dishwasher, or a computer! Kids these days…

"Hello?" came the giant man's familiar voice.

"Ox, it's me," Roshi said hurriedly.

"Oh! Master Roshi!"

The old man had to jerk the telephone away from his ear as his student, ever-respectful, fell to his knees and began bowing. He didn't have to see the other man to know what he was doing, so often did he perform the litany. Then again, it didn't help that Roshi could hear the loud thump of the man hitting the ground. "Listen, Ox, I need you to get Chi-Chi and Goku over here as soon as possible," he said, gritting his teeth.

"Why, Master? What happened?" the man on the other end of the line asked.

"Bulma broke up with Yamcha earlier, and he needs his friends. You're the only one free right now. Can you bring them over?"

"What about Gohan?"

"Bring him too, or take him with you. Perhaps even find Piccolo and leave him there. Whatever you choose to do, just please do it soon. Their support will mean a lot to him."

The Ox-King, once a feared warrior himself, was silent for a moment. Roshi held his breath and crossed his fingers. The other man could refuse to try, he knew, and the Sons could refuse to come. After all, Goku had known Yamcha nearly as long as he had known Bulma, and he might not want to jeopardize either friendship…and both men knew it. When the Ox-King did speak, his voice was much softer and lower than his usual booming bass. "I'll give it a try, Master," he said.

"Thanks, Ox," Roshi said. "Goodbye." He hung up the phone after his former student said his farewells and heaved a sigh. One step to recovery down, and many more to go. The Turtle Hermit ambled back into the living room and gazed out the window at Yamcha's still form. The man was still reminiscing, he thought, and he should be left alone…for now.

And so he was.

* * *

Yamcha and Pu'ar waited at the edge of the oasis until the sun had completely set before they began the long hike home. The shapeshifter rode on the bandit's shoulder and fell asleep before the waters were out of sight, causing the hardened warrior to smile. She always preferred to sleep during the night, one of the biggest fundamental differences between her and him. He preferred to stay awake far into the night, taking advantage of the cooled air. The night was his ally, and he used it as he saw fit. Wrapped in its comforting darkness, he could ambush the occasional caravan or tourist. He could hunt the wild game that emerged from their dens after dusk.

_Too many decisions,_ the wiry bandit thought as he strolled along the sand dunes. _Tonight, I think, I will relax my body and rest my mind. Kami knows I'll need it._ Overhead the stars twinkled brightly, and the moon was beginning to rise in the sky. Its soft light illuminated the sand, making the desert nearly as bright as day with its reflection off the sand. Yamcha smiled sadly at the sight. It was one of his favorite pastimes, staring into the sky at night with Pu'ar and picking out the various constellations, but who knew when he would be able to do it again? If everything worked out right, he would be gone before the sun reached its zenith in the morning, and he had heard that the stars could not be seen through the city lights.

It wasn't until the moon was high overhead that Yamcha reached his abode, his lair. It was nestled inside a pillar of rock, one of many such formations. He climbed the set of steps etched into the stone up to what passed for a door, or hatch. Though he had several hideaways in the desert, this was the place he returned to. This was his home. He raised the wooden hatch slowly so as to not wake Pu'ar and entered the room.

His home was simple, with only one room. A hammock hung in a small cubby built into the stone, below which lay a small rug, worn through from years of use. To one side of the door were two stools and a table, with a large jug of water. On the other side lay an assortment of chests and boxes, only three of which were actually in use. Yamcha placed the sleeping shapeshifter in the hammock before approaching the largest of the chests. He opened it slowly, lest it creak, and snatched a handful of smoked meat and a full waterskin from its darkened recesses. Then he slunk out the door again into the welcoming night.

The desert bandit sunk gratefully into the sands and began his dinner, listening to the wolves howl at the moon. He ate swiftly, humming softly to himself as he thought of the morrow's events. "If only I could stay," he told the warm sands. When he finished his meal, he tossed the waterskin near the steps and drew his sword. The metal made no sound as it slid easily from its sheath, reflecting the light of the moon as Yamcha twisted the blade in the air. He had stolen it a few years before from the mayor of one of the Western cities. It had been well worth his effort…the metal was as smooth as molten silver. He speculated once that it was probably the result of some shady dealing, made for an assassin, perhaps. He had ambushed the group the mayor had traveled with himself, with only Pu'ar as his backup. He recalled with some disgust that the opulent man had practically thrown the sword at him, pleading for his life. The bandit did leave the man alive, but he would carry his scars for the remainder of his life.

The young man swung the sword in an experimental arc before settling back into a purely defensive stance, left hand forward and curled and weapon in his right hand over his head, in position to slice or stab. Then he sprang forward suddenly on the offensive, whipping the sword around the front of his body. Shadow-fighting, he had named it, except there were no shadows for him to chase. Yamcha began adding more and more complicated movements into the intricate dance, leaping about and whirling faster than the eye could see. A normal human would have seen but a flurry of motion; a person who was able to sense _ki_ would have seen the rapid succession of quick jabs and strokes made with the sword.

Faster and faster he moved, always keeping the blade between himself and his potential nemesis. Yamcha even added a small _ki_ blast to his "attack". At the height of his practice, the man was like a dervish, and he left no opening for attack. He cooled down by going through the same exercises at a much slower speed.

When he had finished, he fell over on his back near the steps, cushioned by the sand. "So this is it," he said to no one in particular. "This is my last night under the open sky. If only Bulma was able to come out here with me." He knew, though, that no matter how much he had tried, the young woman was too attached to her city life to be able to successfully adapt to life in the desert. She was too accustomed to having her needs satisfied immediately, to not having to do without, to people making decisions for her. She would simply wilt in the desert. He sighed as he gazed at the moon, listening to the howling of the wolves, his guides.

Animals were not always deaf and dumb, so to speak. Long before the birth of any civilization on Earth, humans relied on animals for meat, transportation, and in some cases, friendship. Such were Yamcha's ancestors, whoever they were, for he no longer knew. His distant relatives befriended wolves, the cunning predators. In return for aid should they need it, the wolves of that time promised a great boon to the men and women of the clan. The humans were offered meat, protection, anything they could have wanted, but they asked for the power of the wolves. The animals were surprised, of course, but they complied. Ever since that far-distant time, the children of the clan were able to tap into the power source of all life, though they knew it not, and access the animals' power.

As civilizations developed and fell, the secret of the wolves became lost in time. It took centuries before one of the clan's descendants even realized they had a higher power to call upon for their defense. This woman, Yamcha's grandmother, bore only a single child, but to this son she taught the secrets of the wolves' power. This man, in turn, taught his own toddler how to call upon the power bequeathed to their family. He also trained the boy in martial arts as soon as he was able to walk, up until he was six years old. He died long before his son was old enough to comprehend what he had been given. That son, Yamcha, taught himself how to transmute that power into physical attacks. Thus the "Wolf Fang Fist" came into being.

The bandit could not remember the first time he had punched someone and called out the name of the attack. What he _could_ remember was a much-larger man dropping to his knees in front of him before falling over. He _did_ remember screwing his face up into a scowl; the man then screamed something about a wolf-child, about his eyes changing colors or something like that. Yamcha snorted in amusement as he recalled the petrified man's tone of voice. Changing color, indeed. The man wouldn't have recognized the use of _ki_ if it came up and bit his rear.

The young man eventually stood up and dusted the sand off his clothes the best he could. He shook his head vigorously as well, knowing well that there was likely to be sand in his hair, too. With one last, regretful look at the stars, Yamcha snatched his waterskin off the ground and began the climb up his steps.

* * *

Once again, thank you for reading this story. If you have any suggestions or comments, feel free to leave a review. 'Til next chapter!

-Dreamwraith


	3. Chapter Three

****

Chapter Three 

"He's been through a lot, Chi-Chi," the Ox-King exclaimed over a steaming mug of cocoa. The night was not exactly cold, but it definitely merited something a bit warmer than water. "And you guys know that Master Roshi wouldn't ask you to do it unless it really meant a lot to him." The huge man sipped at the cocoa and made a satisfied smacking noise with his lips.

"Well, Papa," Chi-Chi said, "I can't say that it wasn't going to happen sooner or later, but do you know why they broke up now, of all times?" She leaned back into Goku, who stood off to her left, and looked down at the Ox-King, who was seated at the table. His seat was bending dangerously, as if a sudden movement would cause it to split into a million pieces. Even sitting down, the man was eye-level with his daughter and her husband.

"Actually, I think it has something to do with that Vegeta character," he replied, taking another sip of cocoa. "I don't know the whole story, but Doctor Briefs told me that she was quite taken with the man, even though she barely knew him. She's a bit off her rocker, that girl is."

"How is Yamcha doing?" Goku asked, putting an arm around his wife. "It can't be easy for him. They've been going out for what, more than ten years? That's a long time."

"Yep, and that's why Master Roshi called and asked me to get the two of you. He said that Yamcha will be needing his friends soon enough, and you and Chi-Chi have always been there for him. Didn't he stay with you guys for a while, before he started playing baseball?" The Ox-King looked up from his mug and raised one eyebrow, expecting an answer.

"Yes, he did, Papa, but only for two days. That was when Bulma blew up part of the room he was staying in with one of her experiments. A bit fishy, if you ask me, but still. We couldn't leave him in half a room." Chi-Chi shifted uncomfortably against Goku's side.

"Well, we should be going over to the Kame House soon, then," Goku said, hugging his wife tighter to him. "Can we all fit in your aircar?"

"Sure," the Ox-King replied, draining the rest of the mug. "All three of you. Well, if you hold Gohan on your lap, you can." He then stood up and stretched, and yawned. "I'll be out at the car, and thanks for the cocoa, Chi-Chi. It really hit the spot." The man grinned as he placed the mug into the sink and emphasized what he said by rubbing his massive stomach.

Goku glanced down at his wife as the Ox-King walked through the door, and they locked eyes. "This sounds really serious, Chi-Chi," he said quietly. "Should we wake Gohan up?"

"No, Goku dear. We can bring him out while he's sleeping."

"Should we leave him with Piccolo?"

The woman shook her head violently, her hair whipping across Goku's face. "No. I will not have my son out with that monster. And besides, we can't just drive the aircar through the backcountry, and you don't know where he is. It would be better if we just took him with us."

"Well, all right," the Saiyan said, blinking. "I'll get him, then. Can you whip up some more cocoa?"

"Of course."

* * *

Pu'ar awoke the next morning to Yamcha's snoring. LOUD! was the first thought that crossed her mind, and she groggily sat up, rubbing her eyes to clear away the grit. After a few seconds the noise had yet to abate, and through her sleep-blurred vision she was unable to see the bandit. She yawned once and arched her back as would a normal cat. The unbalanced motion caused the hammock to sway wildly, and the disoriented shapeshifter toppled over the edge of her bed.

And she landed on top of something soft, which grunted upon impact. As sleepy as she still was, Pu'ar couldn't help but smile.

Yamcha had fallen asleep on the rug again.

"I told you to get another hammock, Yamcha," she told him. Not that he could hear her, she mused. He was out like the proverbial light. Pu'ar levitated herself off the man's back and over to the large chest, straining to lift the lid. It took her the better part of a minute, but she was eventually able to raise it enough to get her breakfast out: dried apples, a coconut (a rarity in these parts), and a pawful of bacon. She smirked as she thought of her fellow shapeshifter, Oolong the pig. She'd been told once by Bulma that Goku had asked him if he ate bacon.

"What are you, brain-dead?" the pig had exclaimed, incensed.

Of course, once Pu'ar learned this, she'd made it a point to tease the pig about it every chance she got.

The shapeshifter set her breakfast down on one edge of the table and sat daintily on one of the stools. She glanced over at Yamcha as she nibbled on the smoked bacon. Well, at least he wasn't snoring any more.

That man was an enigma. He slept on the floor of his own home, on a threadbare rug beside a perfectly serviceable hammock. Whether it was from habit or a trait he had acquired from his animal "guides" she couldn't say. He was a feared bandit, the unspoken, uncrowned King of the desert, but he couldn't stand the company of the opposite gender (with the sole exceptions of Pu'ar and Bulma). He was fierce, vicious in battle, but with the woman he loved he was gentle and understanding, almost introverted. And despite his outward appearance, he was a rather good housekeeper. Pu'ar shook her head as she reached for one of the apples. She'd never fully understand the man, even if she spent the rest of her life by his side. And he _still_ slept on the floor. Hopefully he'd work himself out of that habit, especially when they moved into the city. Kami knows what the civilized city folks would think of a man who slept in the dirt.

It wasn't until after she had cracked open the coconut and was drinking its milk that Yamcha began to stir. At first he simply shifted on the rug. Then he extended his arms over his head and stretched them until Pu'ar thought he would break something. He stretched his legs a moment later, and his neck, and then he sat up, blinking his eyes blearily. It was obvious that his head was still a bit fuzzy. "G'morning, Pu'ar," he said sleepily. "Dya'know what time it is?"

"About half past nine," the shapeshifter piped. "You slept in. Were you trying to catch your shadow again yesterday night?"

The bandit stood up slowly and stretched again. "Yep," he replied. "I need'ta relax and count the stars again 'fore we left." He walked up to the door hatch and opened it, heading outside to use the non-existent bathroom. _That_, Pu'ar decided, was one thing she would enjoy about living in the city. She and Yamcha would no longer have to drag the water jug to and from the oasis every time they needed water, and the toilet would be _indoors_. Their house, wherever it might be, would have real plumbing, and heat for when the nights grew cold. She didn't mind their home now, of course, but it would be nice to live in luxury for a bit. Finding such a house would be the real problem. They might be able to stay at the Capsule Corp. for a bit (providing that Bulma didn't replace Yamcha), but she didn't want to be indebted to the blue-haired woman. Something about her didn't sit well with Pu'ar.

The shapeshifter's thoughts were interrupted when Yamcha leapt back up into the room, startling her so much that she nearly fell off the stool. "And hello again," he said wryly. "Is there anything good in there?" He tilted his head in the direction of the chest.

"Not unless you like smoked meat and dried fruit," she said, resettling herself on her perch as the bandit took his turn searching through the chest for his meal. He grunted acknowledgement as Pu'ar tapped the other stool lightly with her tail. He took the invitation and sat down at the table as soon as he had grabbed his breakfast. "How did your Shadow-fighting go yesterday night?" she asked as he picked up a dried apple.

"Eh, the usual," he replied, tossing the fruit into his mouth. "I won."

Pu'ar shook her head. "I expected _that_," she piped, "but do you feel better now?"

"A bit. I'm going to miss this place, you know." Yamcha sighed deeply, wistfully, staring at his hands.

The shapeshifter frowned. "So you've made up your mind?" she asked quietly, glancing over at the hammock.

"Yeah. Pu'ar, I love her, and if it means that I have to start acting like a 'civilized' man, then so be it."

His dazed and lovesick expression caused Pu'ar to shake her head again. Well, if that was what he wanted, then she'd go along with it. She didn't have to like it, but it was Yamcha she was thinking about, and if he was happy with Bulma she would tolerate his decision. "Well, Yamcha," she said, "if it makes you happy, then I'm all for it. But if she does something wrong, we're both out of there. Right?"

"Right," he assured. "But she won't, so you won't have to worry about that." He popped a piece of bacon into his mouth and blinked.

_Why do I have the feeling that something's going to go wrong?_ Pu'ar asked herself as she sighed. "Have you made plans for a house yet?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Well," Yamcha said, swallowing the meat, "I think I have enough money saved," and at this point he cleared his throat, "to start us off, but I'll need to get a job some time. Maybe I'll teach in a dojo somewhere." _Saved,_ he thought with no small amount of humor. _More like stolen. I'll have to break myself of that, or I'll end up in prison._ He snorted in amusement, and Pu'ar raised an eyebrow at him.

"Ah, just thinking about how hard it's going to be to fit in out there." He glanced over at the pile of crates. "What we should take, what we should leave, that sort of thing."

"We should probably take only the essentials," Pu'ar added. "Like money, clothes for you, two or three meals worth of food. Some waterskins. Your sword. And we should hide or burn what we can't take. There'll be scavengers in here within five hours of us moving out." She tapped a paw on the table in thought, trying to see if she had forgotten anything.

"You're right," he said finally. "We have to keep the bags to a minimum. I only have the one capsule bike, and I don't know how much it can carry before it starts overloading." He snatched a second apple off the table and went to take a bite out of it. However, he must have been nervous, because the instant he lifted his hand he squashed the fruit into a pulp.

"A bit frightened?" Pu'ar asked, a smile on her face.

"Nah," he said, waving his other hand dismissively. "Just nervous, I guess. After all, we _are_ moving." He began licking the homemade applesauce from his hand, to the shapeshifter's amusement.

"I'll wait 'til you're done eating before I start packing," she told him. "It'll go faster. And then we can leave."

"No problems there," Yamcha replied. "I've only got this stuff to lick off. I just hope nothing goes wrong when we get there." He frowned briefly as he ticked off a list on his mental fingers: Bulma could have a new boyfriend, he might not be able to find the Capsule Corp., the bike might break, his sword might break (though this was unlikely), he and Pu'ar could become separated…and the list goes on. He cleaned the last bit of pulp from his hands and dribbled water from his waterskin on them to rid them of their fruity smell.

"Well, whatever happens, at least we'll have this to come back to," Pu'ar said, leaping from her stool to the floor.

"We'll still have a home," Yamcha agreed. "At least."

* * *

Thank you for reading this chapter. Please let me know how I did, as always. I appreciate the input.

-Dreamwraith


	4. Chapter Four

_I quote Kuwa-chan in saying that "if he doesn't have big spikey hair, an orange gi and an alien background, he ain't got a background story, really." Too true. Forgive me, readers, for attempting to recreate what would likely have happened to Yamcha in his travels. I hope it will suffice._

* * *

**Chapter Four**

"Why did I believe him when he said he could fit all of us in here?" Chi-Chi shouted over the howling of the wind. The aircar was hitting record speeds, and her father was showing no sign of easing up on the gas pedal.

"Beats me!" Goku shouted back as he flew alongside the speeding vehicle. "At least you and Gohan fit in there!"

"Pardon?"

"I said, AT LEAST YOU AND GOHAN FIT IN THERE!"

"Thank you!"

"Who are you talking to, Chi-Chi?" the Ox-King asked, releasing the steering wheel to grab hold of the thermos containing the cocoa.

Son Chi-Chi was full of surprises, the latest being a new-found ability to hold her sleeping son in her lap while stretching herself out across her father's leg to steer the driverless aircar. It was a useful talent, of course, though the woman wished to Kami that she would never have to use it again. At least Gohan was still asleep, she thought, relieved. "I was talking to Goku!" she shouted in his ear. It wouldn't hurt him; he could barely hear her over the howling of the winds created by the car.

"Who?" The giant let go of the steering wheel again to cup his hands around his ears. "Who was it?" he asked again.

"Papa! The steering wheel!" Chi-Chi yelped, again diving for the wheel.

Goku shook his head as he watched the father and daughter fight for control of the aircar. _It would be much easier if they just flew, you know,_ he thought as he frowned. Then he shrugged. _Well, I tried teaching Chi-Chi once, and I'm not doing _that_ again._ The Saiyan involuntarily rubbed the back of his head, where his wife had cracked him with a frying pan after he had tried to teach her how to fly, Z-warrior style. Only now was he able to fly her over cliffs without her clubbing him. At least Bulma had never done that to Yamcha.

Yamcha. That was where they were going, Goku reminded himself. They were going to help their friend. He felt sorry for the bandit-turned-ball-player, but unfortunately there was little he could do, personally. He couldn't convince Bulma to eat the perfectly good wolf he had brought her years ago when they had first met…how could he possibly convince her to rethink her decisions now? It would surely be just about impossible.

With luck, Yamcha would be able to recover from his loss over the next few weeks. If nothing worked as planned, and his friends weren't able to help, the man would be broken. That would be it. He would never date again, never love again, and in all likelihood never do anything that reminded him of Bulma ever again. He would spend the rest of his life pining for something he could not have.

Goku turned his attention back to the aircar. It seemed like the Ox-King was back in control of the wheel again, but he could not be sure. The man was easily distracted, though, and if Chi-Chi hadn't hidden the cocoa, there could be more problems. They were almost two-thirds of the way there already, and if nothing happened along the way they would be there in under five minutes.

Hopefully they wouldn't be coming at a bad time. And even more hopefully, Chi-Chi wouldn't have to whack him with her frying pan, or the roller, or a spatula, to snap the downtrodden man out of his depressed mood. That could be bad, Goku thought, but it would be worse to let him wallow in his sorrows. If Yamcha mulled over it too long, he would be in danger of losing himself, more than just the part that was gone now.

And Goku's train of thought was cut short when the Ox-King bellowed out news of their imminent arrival.

* * *

"Oh, my."

Pu'ar's breathless exclamation was more than adequate for the both of them. Neither she nor Yamcha had had the fortune to spend more than a few minutes in such an enormous city before, and now that they had the chance to stop and look around, they were overwhelmed. How could something so large, so complex, function as smoothly as it did? It was nothing short of miraculous!

"You said it, Pu'ar," Yamcha added, just as awe-struck as the shapeshifter hovering near his head. "Let's get going. The sooner we find Bulma, the sooner we can start exploring this organized mess." He emphasized his point by extending his arms out in a flourish. Organized mess, indeed. Chaos seemed to reign on every street corner, but still, the city itself seemed to be in order. What an incongruity, the two bandits mused.

They had managed to pack their sacks in roughly fifteen minutes. Pu'ar's small satchel contained some dried fruit, a few bandages, a waterskin, and (of all things) a set of lock-picks. Yamcha had thought to bring a blanket, in addition to a change of clothes, his sword, a waterskin and enough food for a full meal, and his own set of thieving tools. Then he had rolled up the hammock and the rug and tied them across his back, just underneath the sheath of his sword. The remainder of the food he had taken to the oasis, driving a capsule bike so he would save time. Yamcha would have flown if he had been better at it, but he still needed practice, and now was definitely not the time to try. The dried fruits he had placed under the bushes for the herbivores, but the meat was left out on a rock for the wolves. It was his way of thanking them, as small and as pitiful a thing as he thought it to be.

When he returned to his home he piled the now-empty boxes and chests into the hammock cubby and dragged the stools and table into one corner. The water jug, as well as the seats, was pushed under the table. Yamcha eyed the room critically after this was done, his hands on his hips, but after moving his "furniture" there was nothing else left to do. So upon leaving his home for the last time, he wedged a long, narrow piece of metal into the rock and sealed the hatch. There was nothing else either of them could do to protect what was once theirs, but the "lock" was tight enough that it would take an extraordinary feat of strength to remove it without damaging the door.

Without a backwards glance, the two bandits, human and shapeshifter, hopped onto the capsule bike and headed off for the city. It took them the better part of the morning to reach it – they stopped in a nearby village to ask for directions and had to convince two-thirds of its populace that they weren't there to rob them – but it was worth it. If pressed, neither one would have been able to adequately describe what emotions had overcome them when the magnificent spires of the city came into view. They also would not have been able to give voice to the feelings that arose within them when the whole of the city came into view – breathtaking would have been a good word.

So now they stood upon the sidewalk next to one of the largest roads in the entire settlement, and they were cowed. Awestruck was another good word to describe the situation. In awe, and excited. Frightened? Perhaps. Delighted? Of course. Shocked? Definitely. The pair was quite a sight: one a floating cat with a satchel, and the other a dusty man with an orange cloak, a sword, and a capsule bike. The city folk had seen some odd-looking tourists before, but these two took the cake. At least for the day. They were currently staring up into the atmosphere at the huge skyscrapers that adorned the city, their heads tilted back at an almost ninety-degree angle.

"Hey, Pu'ar," Yamcha said again, "do you think I should put away the bike yet?"

The shapeshifter glanced quickly at the masses that moved along the sidewalk, walking (or running) just behind them. "I think that would be a good idea, Yamcha," she piped, nodding. "It would be easier for us to walk through here anyway. And it'll be easier to stop and ask a policeman for help than if we were on a bike."

The young man nodding and ran a hand through his hair, unaware that he was gathering a small crowd of female bystanders. Yamcha wasn't unattractive by any stretch of the imagination, but this was totally unconscious…his good looks, coupled by his rather exotic appearance, made for quite an attention-grabber. And of course, he did not notice this at all. Rather lucky for him, for in all likelihood he would have passed out the instant he realized how much consideration they were giving him. He recalled the bike with a puff of smoke from the capsule, and together he and Pu'ar began weaving through the crowd in search of a police officer.

Along the way he felt more than one ghostly hand reach into his pocket for his non-existent wallet, and he had to smile. Out in the desert he would have applauded the children for their bravery and cunning, but here…well, city life was different, and it probably wasn't right for young boys and girls to be out on the streets and stealing for a living. They should be in school. Either way, it was a piece of home in an unfamiliar territory.

The next hand that he did feel, though, he grabbed onto and dragged forward.

"And what do we have here?" he asked the disheveled young boy the offending hand belonged to. Beside him Pu'ar tried her best to look menacing.

The child regarded them both with wide eyes. He had never been caught before in such a large crowd! Heck, he had never been caught before at all! He knew he hadn't actually touched the man, but then how could he explain how the man knew he was there? And to top it off, he didn't have any money! All tourists were supposed to carry loads of money! The best the dumbfounded child could come up with was: "Uh…uh…"

Yamcha _tisk_ed. "You should know better than to pick the pocket of a fellow thief, boy. Now get lost." _Well, I'm not actually a thief,_ he amended in his thoughts, _but if it will freak the kid out, he might not try to rob people ever again. It'll be worth it._ He released the young boy, who promptly fell to the concrete on his rear and backpedaled out of sight. To Pu'ar, he said, "Kids these days." He shook his head in disbelief.

"They're so gullible," the shapeshifter added, also shaking her head. "At least that one won't be getting himself into trouble again for a long time. You should have seen the look on his face. He probably wet himself."

The bandit laughed as he began walking down the sidewalk again. "I don't doubt it. I'm pretty sure I scared him good. The only thing I'd worry about is that his master will think I'm from a rival thieves' guild, and that I'm going to work in their territory. Heh, they'd send someone out to kill me for sure, then," he added, twisting one corner of his mouth into a smile.

"If they could find you, or _catch_ you, for that matter," Pu'ar said between giggles.

"And that's a big if." Yamcha laughed again as he rounded the street corner and came face-to-face with a police officer.

The dark-haired man in the blue uniform couldn't help but stare at the two misplaced people in front of him. They looked like they had just come from the casting of some major motion picture featuring the desert, but one glance at Yamcha's sword told him that these two were for real…that they had actually come from the desert. And recently, too, from the looks of it. "Ah, can I help you?" the police man asked, trying his hardest not to stare at them.

"Yes, please," said the floating cat-thing. And that gave him yet another reason to ogle – the cat actually spoke!

"We're looking for the Capsule Corp. complex," the dusty desert man said, swiping his hands across his thighs. "Can you give us directions?"

"Sure." The man relaxed. For a moment, he'd thought they were going to ask him where the nearest beach was, or where some other place with lots of sand was! He hadn't the faintest clue about those places, but of course he knew where the Capsule Corp. was. "Keep going straight along this street. At the second light, make a left, and then a quick right. Follow that street to its end, at the 't', and make a left. The Capsule Corp. buildings will be on the other side of the street, but further down. You can't miss it. It's the only fenced-in complex on the road."

"Thank you, sir."

The man wondered what business such people could possibly have with the prestigious Capsule Corp. and the Briefs family, and he watched them carefully as they strolled out of sight. After all, it wasn't every day you saw such backcountry people in the big city on business with the Briefs, but he decided they couldn't do any harm. He continued on his merry way and never thought of the two outsiders again.

* * *

And that is Chapter Four. Thanks for reading!

-Dreamwraith


	5. Chapter Five

_True, Contrail, though I'm going to address your point this chapter.__ I appreciate your help, and that also goes for all reviewers. Thank you._

_And so sorry for the delay.__ I recently moved back into my dormitory, and I've been busy with my first week of classes. Between that and unpacking, I haven't had much time for anything._

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Krillin watched, somewhat amused, as the Ox-King landed his aircar none too gently on the sand next to the Kame House. "Hey, guys," he said half-heartedly from the edge of the porch.

Goku touched down on the sand in time to steady the vehicle; the Ox-King was not light by any stretch of the imagination, and when he began stepping out of the car it tipped dangerously to the side. Chi-Chi managed to hang on to Gohan while her father warmly greeted Krillin, oblivious to the 'danger' he had placed his sleeping grandson in. Not that there was much he could do to harm Gohan, but in Chi-Chi's eyes the demi-Saiyan was still 'too young' for much of anything.

"Hey, Krillin," Goku said in reply, releasing the car. "How's it going?" He reached into the car and took the sleeping child from Chi-Chi, who promptly climbed out and sighed in relief.

The monk sighed as well as he scooted over on the floorboards, making room for the Ox-King as he stepped up onto the porch. "Master Roshi!" the giant man exclaimed as he squeezed himself through the door. Krillin would have been hard-pressed to withhold a laugh if the situation hadn't been so serious.

"Well," he said, "Yamcha hasn't tried to do anything rash or unthinking, so I guess he's sort of all right. I dunno, Goku. I can't help him at all."

Chi-Chi and Goku approached the steps at a slower pace than the Ox-King did. "Is Yamcha inside?" Chi-Chi asked, stopping in front of Krillin. Behind her, Goku did the same.

"Actually, he _was_ sitting under the palm tree over there," and he indicated the spot with a tilt of his head, "but he moved around to the other side of the house. I think he wants to be left alone for a while."

"That's well and good now," Chi-Chi argued, "but he's going to need somebody to talk to later, someone who's going to listen to him."

Krillin waved a hand dismissively. "I'm not disagreeing with you, Chi-Chi," he said, "but I think he'll come to us when he's ready to talk about it. The best we can do for him now is to just be here. At least that's what Master Roshi says."

The woman pursed her lips and nodded silently. She had known Yamcha nearly as long as Goku and Bulma had, although she hadn't had contact with him until the twenty-third Tenka'ichi Budokai – just before she and Goku had gotten married. Even though Yamcha had been trying to pull a fast one on her, she had still thought he was fairly decent…for a bandit, anyway. He wasn't that disrespectful, and he hadn't harmed her in any way. And over the past few years, since he had been brought back to life by Shenlong, he and Bulma, and Chi-Chi and Goku had grown rather close. They would come over for dinner every once in a while, and then the men would have a friendly sparring match. Sometimes Gohan would join in and team up with Yamcha against Goku.

Blast, but she wished she hadn't given up training. Perhaps she'd get around to it again one of these days. "Then we should be waiting inside for him, instead of out here like a pack of wolves."

Goku and Krillin quickly exchanged glances as Chi-Chi turned to her husband and lifted Gohan out of his arms. None of them had really noticed before, but the boy was getting big. Chi-Chi nearly had to heft him up like a sack of potatoes over her shoulder, and she was the strongest woman on the face of the Earth. Heavy? No, but muscular, and long – he was easily looking Krillin in the eye now, and only a head shorter than Chi-Chi herself.

Both men also shook their heads as she carried the boy indoors and laid him down on the couch before heading off to the kitchen. "Do you think he'll get over Bulma?" Goku asked, looking down at his best friend.

Krillin nodded. "It'll take him a while, but yeah, he will. I've gotten over Maron, and I know from experience that it takes time. But it will happen."

Goku sank down next to Krillin on the porch and sighed, and dropped his chin into his hands. He had known this would happen the whole time, ever since he (and inadvertently Piccolo) had discovered Trunks' parentage, but he hadn't thought it would be this sudden, this soon. "I just wish it didn't have to happen like this," he said regretfully.

* * *

"Hang ON already!" Bulma screeched angrily from the bathroom as she juggled – or _tried_ to juggle – her nail polish, the sponge rollers she was taking out of her hair, her mascara, and the telephone. Not to mention the green goopy stuff she'd made and promptly spread all over her face. Then she turned her attention back to the person on the other end of the line. "Yes, your shipment has already left the complex…no, I don't, you should call the transport company…what do you mean, you already did – I'M COMING, FOR KAMI'S SAKE! – yes, I am a bit busy right now…sure, that would be great. Nice doing business with you." And she ended the conversation with the poor, befuddled customer with a _click._

The insistent knocking on the door was beginning to drive her crazy. It was only eleven-thirty in the morning…way too early for her. She should have been resting up, getting some of her renowned beauty sleep. And to top it off, the person at the door either couldn't hear her, or he/she/it was ignoring her! "I SAID I WAS COMING!" she shrieked again.

Her forceful words were punctuated by the knocking on the front door. And Bulma, being Bulma, eventually just huffed and marched out of the bathroom in her pink robe and fuzzy slippers, looking for all the world like she'd just stuck her hand in a socket. She stomped loudly down the hall, and in the kitchen her mother looked up from her latest batch of cookies, wondering what all the fuss was about. "What happened to waiting between knocks!" the blue-haired woman roared as she grabbed the handle on the door and pulled it open, nearly falling over in her haste.

And she stopped shrieking like a banshee gone mad when she came face-to-face with her boyfriend, whose hand was still outstretched to open the door.

Yamcha, for his part, was just as surprised as Bulma when she opened the door. A lesser man would have quailed at the sight of an enraged female with blue sponge-rollered hair, a green face, and a pink robe. He simply stuttered out a greeting before the monstrosity in the doorway grabbed his arm and pulled him into the house. In her excitement, she almost forgot that Pu'ar was with him, and she had to open the door again for the shapeshifter.

"Oh, Yamcha!" she cried when they were in the relative safety of her house. "I haven't seen you in so long! Why didn't you come sooner?"

"Um, I had some things to take care of back home," he replied, acutely aware of how lame his true reason sounded. "I figured you'd probably like it better if I lived here in the city."

The look Bulma gave him was something akin to what-the-heck-is-wrong-with-you, and she said so. "What on Earth possessed you to move across almost half the continent, to West Capital?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow at him.

"Well, you did," he said, looking her in the eye and blushing.

For the first time since she'd dragged her boyfriend into the house, she noticed the dust and grime he was covered in, and the satchel Pu'ar was carrying. He had his sword with him, and a bedroll, and what looked like a hammock – and a rug? – on his back. Yamcha was most definitely moving, but where? He didn't have a house in West Capital, last time she had checked. Did that mean…

"Would you like to stay here for a while?" Bulma asked, barely containing her excitement. "We have lots of room, I'm sure Dad and Mother wouldn't mind, you know they adore you anyway!" she babbled.

"They do?" Yamcha asked, becoming concerned. He had never met her parents before, but her comment led him to think she'd done a lot of talking about him, without him there. Oh, that could be bad. Especially if she'd said he was a bandit. He couldn't imagine the parents of such a bright young woman being too keen on their only daughter dating (perhaps eventually marrying!) a brigand.

"Oh, of course! Let me show you what room you can stay in, and where the bathrooms are, and the kitchen, and – "

"Um, Bulma, I really don't want to impose. I'd like to go looking for my own apartment soon, and I'd rather just stay here until I find one."

The young woman laughed at the nervous expression on her boyfriend's face. "Don't be ridiculous," she said, pulling him down the hall to the kitchen. "You saw how huge this place is. Don't worry about it. There is _more_ than enough room for you and Pu'ar, and more than enough food. So you don't have to worry about starving or something." Bulma stopped and eyed his bundled blanket critically, as though she somehow knew he had food in there.

Yamcha was too embarrassed to do much other than mumble another thanks and then submit to her whim – she gave him a grand tour of a large fraction of the Capsule Corp. complex, not leaving out even the most minute of details. Pu'ar, though patient through most of the ordeal, could not help but feel by the end of the orientation that she had to scratch Bulma's eyes out.

"Oh, and by the way," the scientist asked in front of one of the lawn chairs – Yamcha couldn't understand for the life of him why she wanted to introduce him to her backyard – "how did you get here? You didn't fly, did you?" She turned her big blue eyes on him, and he nearly melted. So wonderful, being lost in her gaze…

"HELLO! Earth to Yamcha!" she said loudly, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning.

"Yeah?"

"Did you fly in?"

And Yamcha's wonderful reverie was broken with a sigh. "No, Bulma. I told you already that I can't fly well enough to go anywhere fast. I can barely hover. Pu'ar and I took a capsule bike."

The disappointed look she shot him before beginning to turn prompted him to hastily add, "I just need to practice. I'll eventually get better at it."

"Oh, really?" she asked, whirling back around and smiling. "Can you show me?"

The glance Pu'ar shot him was nothing short of you're-in-for-it-now.

_What have I gotten myself into?_ Yamcha thought before smiling. "Sure. Just watch." Then he closed his eyes in concentration, and slowly but surely gathered his _ki_ around his body. To Pu'ar, who was somewhat familiar with Yamcha's _ki_, the change was noticeable. To Bulma, who had no experience of the sort, the bandit seemed to have a migraine.

And then he began to lift himself up off the floor, first only a finger's-width, and then a handspan, then an arm's-length above the floor. Only when he became noticeably fatigued did he touch down again, a few minutes after the demonstration began. He opened his eyes and heaved a sigh, meeting Bulma's awestruck gaze.

The scientist's brain had gone into overdrive. After a display like that, who needed vehicles? And she said so.

"Can't…be done now," Yamcha panted, leaning over and resting his hands on his knees while he caught his breath. "Need…more practice…for it to be worth…its time."

"Well, then, you're just going to have to practice in your spare time!" Bulma exclaimed. She gave him a quick kiss and told him she'd see him in an hour for lunch, she needed to get her green mask off now and finish her hair.

Pu'ar humphed at Bulma's retreating figure. "She's crazy, you know, Yamcha. She doesn't realize that you're not _going_ to have time," she told her companion.

"She is that, Pu'ar," came his reply. "And that's why I love her."

The shapeshifter didn't need to look over at him to know that he was blushing, and dreamy-eyed.

* * *

Thanks for reading. I appreciate it.

-Dreamwraith


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

Yamcha almost started laughing. Bulma had been a bit off her rocker, a few bulbs short of a pack, had a few screws loose up there. _Heh, thinking I could fly, just like that. It took me so long to get just from one end of the complex to the other. Come to think of it, if I _had_ tried to fly to and from the oasis it would have taken us a few days to make the trip. And Kami, that would have been embarrassing._

He had felt so acutely the arrival of Goku and his family, and the Ox-King. He was no idiot; he knew what they were there for, and that it would only be a matter of time before one or all of them approached him (or cornered him) to ask how he was doing, would he like anything, and would he like to stay with them for a while? The ex-bandit humphed. He knew what they were like.

Yamcha sighed and let his gaze drift out over the gentle ocean waves.

The others were trying to be discreet with their presence, but to someone who could sense _ki_ it was rather pointless. They weren't hiding anything from him, and he was sure they knew it. In fact, Goku and Krillin were sitting on the porch, and between them they had just barely managed to keep Chi-Chi from coming after him. How very thoughtful of them. Perhaps he'd appreciate it when he was no longer in such a depressed mood.

His thoughts returned to Bulma.

She had said he was too non-committal.

Hah. Now that he had a bit of time to think about it, perhaps he was a bit of a loose soul. The desert was most certainly in his blood, and it demanded freedom, a life without constraint. Without limitations. He wanted the life _he_ had always wanted to live, not the one she would have planned for him. Children? Children would have been wonderful. He had wanted children for some time, but Bulma had always said no, let's wait until we're married. So he had dutifully waited, and over the years had grown more and more impatient with her.

But of course, he still loved her, and would continue to do so until he died and could no longer be wished back. And even then, there was a darn good chance he'd still love her in the Afterlife, even if she _did_ belong to…him.

Yamcha considered briefly going back to the desert with Pu'ar, but he had a solid career in baseball, and he would hate to lose it. He made enough money to more than pay back any debt he could have possibly accumulated, and he was nearly famous to boot. He was a veritable icon for almost every teenaged girl on the continent. Could that be why Bulma broke up with him?

The man blinked tears out of his eyes. She took it the wrong way, every time he was seen with some girl in public. He was _not_ cheating on her. He would _never_ have cheated on her. Just because some strange female (or in some cases, passing acquaintance) happened to grab his arm or latch herself onto his side did not automatically mean he was 'with' her. What was he supposed to do, give up walking around West Capital? That wouldn't be just ridiculous, it would be impossible. He _lived_ in the city.

Non-committal? Yamcha supposed that, in a few years, he would see that the break-up was a good idea. Bulma _was_ rather clingy at times. And heck, he would eventually see that being married to a genius perfectionist with a stubborn streak the size of the Lookout would _not_ have been a good idea. If Vegeta wanted to deal with that, then so be it. But Kami, how he'd miss her…

Maybe he should go back and live in the desert. After all, he was just as respected out there as he was here, though for different reasons. It wasn't every day a man could claim to be both a bandit and a ball-player and not lie about excelling in both disciplines.

Yamcha shook his head and gingerly touched the large scar that ran along the left side of his face. No, on second thought, he would stay here. At least for the time being. It wouldn't be wise to chance a repeat encounter, even though he was so much stronger now than he had been those many years ago. It might not have been a fair fight, but still. He wasn't in the mood for a confrontation. In all likelihood, he'd get pissed off and blow the man to kingdom come. Eh, he would think about that later, let his brain run on its own for a bit.

Or if he _did_ go back to the desert, would he be able to run with a pack of wolves? Make a wish to Shenlong, and turn himself into a wolf, or a werebeast of sorts? Pu'ar could live with that, but would he be able to? Running with the guardians of his ancestors sounded thrilling enough, but to be a wolf for the rest of eternity? On second thought, he might just be able to create a new cave for himself and his traveling companion. It wouldn't be too hard now that he could control his _ki_. Or heck, he could stay here at the Kame House, or even in his mansion. Bulma would not be with him any more, and she wouldn't be able to control what he could and could not do, so why not?

Old habits died hard, Yamcha decided, and it would be best if he gave it some more time. After all, he had all the time in the world…

* * *

He and Bulma were actually happy together for a few years. Completely and totally happy. Sure, she was a bit loony at times, but nobody's perfect. Besides, she was a scientist, and scientists dealt with plenty of chemicals. Some of them were so toxic they'd addle the human brain in seconds. Some would poison the person over years. And others were just flammable, combustible, and/or explosive.

He'd picked up more than a bit of mechanics and science from Bulma, and he was proud of himself.

Yamcha sighed again and looked over at his girlfriend. So they'd been together for a while, now – _a few years!_ he thought. He had yet to find himself somewhere to live, or a job or _anything_. Pu'ar kept telling him to think of this as a training period, like college. He _was_ learning, just not from lectures. So far, he and Bulma had put together several new types of automobile, including a submersible hovercar. She had also taught him how to pilot a plane – which is how he had found Goku and Bulma after the kid had trashed the Red Ribbon Army.

So he was fast becoming a mechanic. And a fairly good one, at that. He was also picking up a bit of chemistry, from watching Bulma in her lab. _That_ was when he decided he did not want a career in science. His first – and last – real lab experience had happened only a month ago, and the two of them were still trying to scrape the charred ceiling tiles clean. His girlfriend had made the mistake of asking him to hand over her favorite shade of nail polish because she was running a bit behind schedule, and he blindly agreed.

Oh, he wished now, if he had only read the label: CAUTION! Avoid intense heat and flames.

As it was, Bulma was working near an open flame, and the instant she started applying the nail polish – he didn't even know what happened then. All he could see was that it had ignited on the brush, and up, and to the ceiling. Bulma was furious, of course; she called the company the very next day to find out what on _Earth_ they had been putting in their nail polish.

For a genius, she sure acted like an airhead.

And judging by the shouting on the phone, the representative she had dealt with had told her the very thing. Yamcha could have sworn that his ears would be ringing for the rest of the week. Pu'ar could vouch for him, too. That poor shapeshifter…she was so much more sensitive to sound than he was.

Kami, it was enough to make him want to head out on his own and make up some excuse as to why he wouldn't be staying at Bulma's house any more.

Ah, but that wouldn't be right, he told himself sternly, passing the rubber cement over to Bulma. He had more honor and dignity than that.

"Hey, Yamcha, got any plans for tonight?" she asked, taking the jar and brush from his outstretched hand.

"No. Why do you ask?"

The young woman blinked. "Mom and Dad wanted to take me out to dinner tonight, to celebrate that new Capsule we worked on, and I'd like you to come with me."

Yamcha felt the corners of his mouth lift into a smile. "I'd love to. About six?"

"Yeah. So you should probably get in the shower now, before Mom does."

Yamcha laughed – it was a well-known fact that Mrs. Briefs took very long, very hot showers. And he was spoiled now. He hadn't needed to wash himself off with cold water since he had moved in with Bulma and her family unless Mrs. Briefs used all the hot water. Depending on what she had been doing that day, it was a very real possibility, and not one that he wanted to think about. "Are you going to need me in here for anything else?" he asked.

"Nah," she said, waving one hand dismissively and pulling her goggles down over her eyes with the other. "Get in there before Mom."

"Will do."

It only took the young man a few minutes to make his way up to the bathroom with a clean change of clothes and Pu'ar. He'd needed to explain to Bulma more than once why Pu'ar came into the bathroom with him – it was a habit, from when they still lived in the desert. You _never_ let your guard down in the wild, not even for a bath. The scientist also didn't seem to understand that the shapeshifter only sat on the lip of the sink and washed her fur at the same time the bandit was in the shower. Apparently she thought they stayed in the room while using the toilet, or something like that.

"You know, Yamcha," Pu'ar squeaked as he closed the bathroom door behind them, "she's never going to realize how little the locks on these doors actually do to help keep thieves out."

"And that's why you're here, Pu'ar," he replied, pulling the chain across the door. "I wouldn't want anyone else guarding my back. Except Goku, maybe. And that's a big if. He wouldn't be able to find his own head if it wasn't attached at the shoulders." The man chuckled as an image of Goku, confused as always, appeared in his mind. _But my head's right here, Yamcha!_ it said. _What are you talking about?_

Apparently Pu'ar was thinking the same thing, for she joined him in laughter.

The shapeshifter did avert her eyes when Yamcha shucked his shirt, and continued to stare at the wall while he created a sizeable lump of clothes on the floor. As always, the warrior stepped into the shower and closed the curtain before turning on the water, knowing that Pu'ar wouldn't begin her own bath until she heard the water running. Habit, indeed. In the desert, she would wait until he let her know he was submerged.

Pu'ar snorted and turned on the faucet long enough to wet down her washcloth.

"She didn't leave her hair in the drain this time!" Yamcha called above the rushing water.

"That's good," came the reply. "She's finally learning how to clean up after herself. And by the way, good luck at dinner."

"Thanks." Yamcha sighed as the hot water ran down the length of his body. _This house idea is sounding better and better every day,_ he thought. _I just hope we're both together still when I get one._

* * *

Thanks for reading!

-Dreamwraith


	7. Chapter Seven

_(brandishes the Whack-Bonk stick)_ _Enguarde, evil writer's block!_

_By the way, _violence warning_ for the end of the chapter. Unsuitable for young children._

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

No, he would stay in West Capital. He had a game in a few days, and the team needed him.

Yamcha smiled weakly. He had his home, and he had his friends. He did not need to completely isolate himself like last time. He could make this work out. "And it's not like I can't find ways of avoiding her," he muttered. "She can't track _ki_." Then he snorted. "A very good thing."

Oh, that dinner he'd been thinking about had been…interesting. Bulma had almost repeated the same mistake she'd made with the nail polish and all, and he ended up tackling her to keep her from opening the bottle. Yes, tackled. Yamcha had learned from experience that trying to snatch something small from a table with many, many sharp objects was nigh impossible to do, and he still had the faded white scars on his fingers from it. He had to look carefully to find them, but they were there. A rather painful reminder of why he needed to watch out for Bulma's safety whenever he could. Genius that she might be, Bulma was still her mother's daughter, and her mother was a ditz.

Dinner. Right. Well, from what he could remember – and at this he chuckled quietly – was Mrs. Briefs spilling her coffee all over Bulma's lap at the dinner. Kami, had she been furious. Yamcha had had the presence of mind to get more napkins, the waiters all frozen in place by the woman's furious screaming, but left her to clean herself up. Only Kami knows what she would have done to him had he tried to touch her. Bulma probably would have tried to bite his hand off.

_All right, so I _am _feeling a bit better, _he thought. _Maybe I will get over Bulma after all. She couldn't be the only nice girl out there, could she?_ At this he snorted again. "If you call her temper 'nice', that is," he muttered under his breath.

It actually wasn't too far after that dinner that they'd had one of their worst fights in years. Bulma must have been at her wit's end by dessert, and she just started shouting at him in the car. Dr. and Mrs. Briefs ignored her, but Yamcha couldn't avoid her lashing tongue. And Kami, it had stung. Not only did she gripe about his decided lack of scientific knowledge (_No surprise there, _he thought. _I fight and work on mechanics, not chemicals._), but she also brought up about how she 'couldn't be seen in public with such an uncivilized ruffian'.

At which point he asked Mr. Briefs to stop the car, and he got out and walked back to the Capsule Corp. Sans Bulma. The expression on her face as he slammed the door shut was priceless. 'Horrified' was an understatement. If he had stayed around that evening, Yamcha would have gotten another earful from the scientist, and he did not deserve to be treated like that.

The ex-bandit chuckled darkly. It hadn't been that hard for him to gather his possessions, either. The farthest he had to walk in the Briefs residence was to 'his' room and to the wall housing his sword. That was it. And he said his farewells while he was at it.

Yamcha touched the scars on his face briefly, tracing two fingers along his jawline as he did so. That was also where he'd earned his scars, and found out he could play baseball. _Professional_ baseball. A way to earn both money and independence from his semi-psychotic girlfriend. And a bit of fame that would not come from terrorizing the countryside. He was glad that he'd moved out for a time then, because he had learned more than a few valuable lessons.

First of all, always be prepared for danger, even when the situation does not call for it.

Second, never, _ever_ leave any of your possessions behind. Including your house, if possible.

And third, never assume that you can depend on or trust anyone but yourself.

* * *

"All right," Yamcha muttered, throwing his bike capsule to the ground and blinking at the resulting puff of smoke. Too pungent, and irritating to the eyes. _We'll need to work on that,_ he thought absently. Then he shook his head. "Not 'we'," he continued out loud. "She. Bulma can think of it herself. Are you ready to go?" This last bit was directed at Pu'ar.

"I'm ready," the tiny shapeshifter squeaked as she adjusted her sack across one shoulder. "Do you have any idea of where we're going, Yamcha?"

The bandit revved the engine and took off as soon as Pu'ar was settled on the bike. "I'd rather go back to the desert for a while, if you don't mind," he shouted over his shoulder and the wind whistling by their ears. "Get some fresh air for a change. I've had enough of this city for now!"

Pu'ar missed the jubilant grin on Yamcha's face. "Do you think our house is still there?" she yelled in his ear.

"I don't see why it wouldn't!" he shouted back. "It was hard enough for us to find it in the first place! Nobody should be able to tell it's there!"

At least, that was what Yamcha had assumed. He was the type of man who based his knowledge on his own experience. For good reasons, he did not trust what he was told, taking it with a grain of salt. Logically, there would be few people able to find his abode, much less access it. So when he and his companion roared into the desert, they were not expecting to find trouble.

The desert air was refreshing, after living in a city for years. It was a sharp contrast: the warmth and space, and clean air, versus pollution, crime not caused by themselves, and cramped living conditions. And they could finally see the stars. They hadn't picked out constellations in ages…now they could, courtesy of the sharp night. Yamcha and Pu'ar felt a heavy burden lift from their chests, and both heaved a sigh of relief. Was this what they had needed? Maybe so, but even if it was not, it certainly helped their frazzled nerves. Time away from Bulma could be bliss.

Yamcha snagged the cloth that held back his hair and tore it away, the black mane free from restraint for the first time in months, and he sighed again. He had forgotten how wonderful the wind felt as it blew through his hair. Behind him Pu'ar scrunched down farther in the seat to avoid being lashed across the face, and he grinned. Any minute now, she would say something along the lines of giving him a haircut.

Kami, it felt so wonderful to be back out here.

The young man recalled the bike once he began picking out familiar landmarks. "Well, Pu'ar," he breathed, "we're almost back. It's been such a long time, I wonder how the furniture has held up."

The shapeshifter descended on his shoulder and huffed. "You're worrying about things you can make in a few minutes. You know we're going to need to go hunting and gathering fruit. I've been worrying about whether or not the oasis was hunted out."

Yamcha chuckled. "I doubt it. I've been watching for tracks since we got out here. If that's any indication of the game situation around here, we'll be just fine."

It wasn't until they drew nearer to their former hideout, trotting along at a decent pace, that the two bandits detected the problem. It started as a few chunks taken out of this rock, or holes bored into that deadwood, and Yamcha grew nervous. These marks were not natural wear-and-tear and were clearly visible even in the moonlight. They were man-made, and that made for a dangerous situation. Neither Yamcha nor Pu'ar were strangers to the rogue's life of intrigue, and the possibility that another brigand might be about kept them on their toes. Even worse, that brigand might be watching them at that moment, waiting for one of them to make a mistake.

Not all bandits had a code of honor, or morals.

Yamcha's heart nearly pounded out of his chest when he and Pu'ar finally came upon their shelter and discovered the same scratches etched into the rock face. "This is bad, Yamcha," Pu'ar whispered in his ear. Though her voice was steady, the cat was trembling violently, a reaction he had not seen in her since the last Tenka'ichi Budokai. It unnerved him more than the marks did.

"I know," he hissed back. As he lifted his gaze to the wooden hatch above the steps, he caught a glimmer of light from between the cracks in the boards and scowled. So there was someone in _his_ house, was there? He would have to teach this anonymous thief a lesson.

Silent as a wraith, he reached behind him and unsheathed his sword, the moonlight catching on the blade and reflecting its soft glow on the steps. Yamcha held up his free hand and signaled for the shapeshifter to back him up. Then he stepped forward and crouched down directly below the hatch, holding his sword along the front of his body.

Pu'ar's exhaled breath frosted in the cold air, and she smiled. They hadn't done anything like this in so long, and she missed the action. Of course, she had a fair idea of what Yamcha was about to do. He hadn't been practicing levitating and flying every day for nothing, but in this situation it was pointless. He freely admitted that he was nowhere near skilled enough to fly on reflexes alone, and fighting and ambushing required that. Heck, he'd even said something about being diced sushi if he stopped long enough to concentrate on getting himself off the ground.

This might all be true, but that also meant he could pull off some very impressive leaps.

With no more than a soft grunt, Yamcha launched himself off the ground and straight through the door into the room, shattering the wood like glass and startling the intruders. The bandit landed in a crouch again with his sword held defensively in front of him, glaring down the three men that were gathered around the table, all of whom stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck. "What are you doing in my house?" he growled through clenched teeth.

"Yamcha!" one of the men gasped, drawing incredulous stares from his two companions. "The Bandit!"

"I'm only asking you once more, before I force you out. What are you doing in my house?"

The three men began blubbering about a business deal and stumbling across this place in their travels and wasn't it such a great place to hide?

Yamcha sneered at them. He felt nothing but contempt for these men. _What kind of criminals are these people?_ he thought. _They barely have half a brain between'em!_ "Get out of here," he spat, standing up. "Before I have to force you out myself."

Unexpectedly, he felt a hand clamp down hard on his right shoulder, his sword arm, and spin him around. _A fourth one?_ he thought incredulously. _How did I miss him?_ He jerked back out of reflex, and his vision exploded into a bright swirling mass of red and black as something slashed down at his face. The bandit howled as pain burned across his face and heat blossomed in his right eye and left cheek, feeling something scrape against bone. Upon later reflection, jerking away was probably what had saved his eye and his vision, and most of his face. But in the here and now, Yamcha clutched at his face through his own blood, dropping his sword as he did so. The wounds – two of them – were ragged against the palms of his hands, and the bandit wondered absently how deep they were.

He had no more time to ponder the thought, because the instant Pu'ar had heard his cry she rushed into the room after him. He knew better than to stand in the way of his friend once she became enraged, and he threw himself to one side of the room as a giant wolf suddenly appeared in a puff of smoke, snarling and baring its fangs.

Yamcha blacked out to the sounds of a one-sided battle.

The bandit awoke again in the same position against the wall. "Pu'ar?" he called, grimacing as the gouges in his face pulled painfully. "Where are you?"

"Over here, Yamcha," came her answer. "By the table."

"What time is it?"

"Almost noon. You're lucky you stayed asleep."

"Why is that?"

Yamcha could hear the discomfort in the shapeshifter's voice when she spoke again. "I stitched up your face the best I could, Yamcha," Pu'ar said quietly. "That bandit had claws, the ones you clasp to your arm and hold on to, and your face…Yamcha, I couldn't let them sit open, or they'd get infected."

The man winced, and grimaced again when the wounds protested the stretching. He gingerly felt the gash along his left cheek, so close to his jaw, and paused when he felt stitches. He did the same for his right eye, although his exploring fingers met cloth bandages over the area. He didn't know what the stitches were made of, but it must have taken a lot of courage for Pu'ar to sit with him and sew up his face, hoping he wouldn't wake up in the middle of it…

Yamcha shifted himself onto his knees. Even _he_ was growing uneasy with his own thoughts. "What did you do with those men?" he asked after a minute.

Pu'ar sighed. "They ran. I don't know where they went, but I'm sure they won't be coming back here any time soon."

"Thank you."

The two companions sat in silence for the rest of the morning, wondering what exactly had gone wrong. Yamcha was fairly sure he would regain his sight and full control of his facial muscles, but there would be some nasty scarring. Those tears were jagged, and there was no doctor around to correct that and sew them up properly. He would carry the marks of his carelessness for the rest of his life, and he felt miserable.

* * *

Two months to update one chapter…I give you permission to yell at me about this. But all the same, thanks for reading.

-Dreamwraith


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

Oh, he'd been given a reason to stay on his guard, all right. Yamcha grimaced. Come to think of it, it was funny _now_, but it had really hurt then. On occasion he could still feel the steely blades against his skin, and he'd been shaken out of more than one nightmare before by Bulma. Time truly was the best teacher. He'd never made the same mistake again.

He also didn't have the occasion to return to his cubby.

The man stood up and stretched. "I need to get off this island," he muttered, more to hear his own voice than anything else. "I need to get my mind off this." It didn't hurt his reasoning to say that the sand was finally cooling off, too, and his rear was freezing. Inside he could hear Chi-Chi and Master Roshi arguing over how best to cook rice, how Master Roshi had been alive for so long, of course he knew the best way was to just boil it in a pot, and how Chi-Chi had been cooking for two Saiyans for eight years and they liked it best when it was fried…

Yamcha smiled. At the rate they were going, Gohan would wake up and ask permission to stay with Piccolo because they were so loud, and Chi-Chi would yell at him and make several nasty remarks regarding the Namek, and it would escalate until someone broke them apart. It wouldn't have been the first time something like that had happened. Why, only last week Goku had teleported her to the Kame House so he and Gohan and Piccolo could train without her screaming at them. _That_ had been entertaining for a while. He and Krillin had taken off so she couldn't yell at either of them, too.

Goku and Krillin were still seated on the porch. Krillin was laughing about something, more likely than not Goku's typical childish behavior. Yamcha's assumption was confirmed when he heard Goku yelp, "Hey!" He smiled again. That man could lighten the darkest of moods just by being himself. Or, if that didn't work, he would just shift the brunt of the anger to himself, and it was well known that few people could hold grudges against Goku for very long.

Goku was a job himself, Yamcha decided. It was no secret that Krillin tried analyzing Yamcha himself a few months ago, on a passing whim, but Goku would have been far more interesting. So the monk thought _he_ was messed up. What was so terribly wrong with himself? He was still nervous around most females, but then again he'd had no real contact with them when he was young and impressionable. Goku had been traveling with people since he was an adolescent, and he still acted like an eight year-old. Yamcha had a theory about that, similar to his own about why he was so 'afraid' of girls. The Saiyan had no real model for adult behavior, so he acted as he always had, even when he was an adult himself. Goku had a brain, and he was intelligent – no matter how dim he acted – his only problem was his behavior.

"Look at me," Yamcha chuckled softly. "Even my thoughts are rambling today. I really _do_ have to find some new scenery."

Fairly certain he would not be followed, Yamcha sprang into the air and headed away from the island. The others would be watching his _ki_, but they would not come after him unless he gave them a reason to do so and he did not intend to do anything harmful. As a matter of fact, he was planning on taking a walk through the forest near the Son residence. It would calm him down quite a bit, he thought. Goku would understand, at least, and he'd stop Krillin and the others from trailing him.

Thank Kami for friends such as he.

Yamcha sighed as the wind tore through his hair, the black mess thrashing wildly behind him as he increased his speed. He was feeling better already. When he straightened himself out, perhaps he'd devote himself more fully to baseball or martial arts. After all, with Bulma out of his life, he would have plenty of free time to use as he desired. It could be fun.

* * *

They left the hideout early that evening. Pu'ar had coerced Yamcha into remaining on the stool while she searched the crates and chests for anything that would be of use to them. He did not mind. His face had swollen slightly during the afternoon, and anything that would require him to talk or move his head at all was avoided. He wanted to wince just thinking of how it would feel to ride the capsule bike through the desert and back to West Capital.

"I don't think there's anything in here we can't replace easily, Yamcha," the shapeshifter piped from inside one particularly large chest. "Are you ready to leave?"

"I think so," he replied slowly, careful not to stretch the healing gouges.

"Will you be okay to drive?"

"Should be. I just need to remember to shield my face." Unspoken was the addition that he would use his _ki_, not enough to be dangerous but more than adequate for a simple guard. "Is there anything else we need?" he asked.

"Not that I know of. Where are we going to stay?"

Yamcha blinked at Pu'ar's expectant gaze. He hadn't given that much thought. "Well," he confessed, "I have enough money to get us a decent hotel room and food for a few nights. But after that, I'm not sure. I hadn't thought ahead that far."

"Do you think Master Roshi and Krillin would mind if we stayed with them for a while?" she asked.

"I don't think they would," he replied, "but I don't want to impose. They've already done enough for us. If possible, I want to get a job and find a decent house somewhere."

"Will that work?"

"I hope so." After a moment the two bandits came down the steps, and Yamcha blocked the open doorway with one of the boxes and a few smaller scraps of wood. If he had not wanted to leave as soon as possible he could have made an actual door to replace the one he had busted, but he wanted someone with a medical background to examine the wounds on his face. He didn't feel any different from earlier, but that meant nothing. He didn't want to risk infection, or the slightest possibility that the claws had been poisoned. Either could lead to illness and/or death, and he couldn't be sure Goku (or anyone else, for that matter) would notice the change in his _ki_ in time to help.

The bandit tossed the capsule containing the bike into the sand and grimaced at the plume of smoke. Maybe he would just fix that problem himself and market it on his own. That would be one way of making money, but then he'd need to deal with Bulma about it. From experience, the woman was relentless, and she would hound him for a long time for the process. He shuddered. He loved her, but even he had his limits.

Nah. He would get a real job, one that he enjoyed, and he wouldn't have to contend with her again. Pu'ar snatched her sack and the empty capsule and hopped onto the bike behind him, and Yamcha took off. "What do you think about opening a gym?" he asked the shapeshifter once they'd cleared the desert.

Pu'ar shook her head, knowing he wouldn't see the motion. "I don't think you'd enjoy that too much. You know how jealous Bulma gets if too many girls start crowding around you. She'd probably throw a fit."

The bandit sighed (and silently thanked Kami that _ki_ came in so handy). "True. Any suggestions?"

"Not really," came the high-pitched reply.

They traveled in relative silence until dusk, when they neared the outskirts of the city. "Any place in particular you want to stay, Pu'ar?" Yamcha asked, wincing as the engine revved, splitting the soundless night.

"Not really. But I wouldn't mind if we stopped somewhere to stargaze for a while. We haven't done that in a while."

"Right. Not since last night."

"You know what I meant."

Yamcha chuckled and made a right on one of the side streets. "Would you mind going to the park?" he asked, slowing down for another capsule bike.

"No. Is it close?"

"Fairly. About four more blocks east of here, I think. It's the one Bulma had her company picnic at last year."

There were few people on the streets, and they were able to pull up to the park entrance without being seen. It was closed after dusk, but several lights in the parking lot were on, presumably for the maintenance crew and whoever enforced the "no entry" law. Yamcha ignored it. He had spent most of his life disregarding the law and breaking it outright, or bending it for his own use. He had no compunction against sitting in the park for a while. Besides, if he was stopped he could either claim he was with the Capsule Corp. or just toss whomever it happened to be clear out of the park.

He and Pu'ar walked the length of the park after recalling the bike, craning their necks back to the point of discomfort to see as much of the heavens as possible. It was amazing how clear the sky over the park was. The skyline of the city was light, purple instead of black, so the stars were not visible there. But here, over the park, the two bandits could pick out constellations, shooting stars, and satellites. Yamcha figured it was because there was nothing for the city lights to reflect off of out here, so the sky remained dark.

He gritted his teeth. Blast those brigands! He could have been well on his way back to his real lifestyle, but thanks to them his plans were interrupted. To say he was angry would be an understatement.

Pu'ar hid a smile behind one paw as Yamcha picked up a fist-sized rock and hurled it at a tree. _Crack!_ It sailed off into the night, leaving behind a large hole in the tree. _Crack!_ A second followed it. _Crack!_ And a third. Yamcha had good aim.

"Are you done yet?" the shapeshifter asked after the eight stone had made its mark on that same tree. "You're going to kill it!"

"It'll live," Yamcha replied quickly. "Trees are tougher than they look."

"And a guy with that kind of talent can kill as many trees as he wants," came an unfamiliar voice from behind them. The two bandits whirled around – Yamcha berated himself for days after for not hearing the man sneak up on them – and came face-to-face with a middle-aged gentleman, well-dressed and smiling.

"I beg your pardon?"

The man chuckled at the bewildered expression on Yamcha's face. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help but interrupt when I saw what amazing aim you have. We could use someone with that kind of accuracy and speed on our team."

Yamcha must have appeared lost in the remark, and the man shook his head. "I've confused you, haven't I?" Without waiting for a reply he continued. "I'm a talent scout for the West Capital baseball team. I usually walk around the park during the afternoon to spot likely youngsters such as yourself, but the night was so beautiful I had to come out and enjoy it. And then I came upon you and your companion."

It started to sink in after those words, and Yamcha blushed. "Um, thanks, I think," he stuttered.

Pu'ar smacked the back of his head.

"So how about it, boy?" the talent scout asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"Job," Pu'ar hissed into his ear.

Yamcha shrugged. "Sure. Why not? What do I have to do?"

"Well, do I have to keep calling you 'boy'?"

"Name's Yamcha."

The man took out a small pad of paper and a pen from his briefcase, which had gone unnoticed before that moment, and began writing. "Well, Yamcha, I'd like to meet with you tomorrow evening if possible, in the stadium. The team has practice, and you should see how it runs first. You're lucky enough to be caught before try-outs; those are next week. If you like what you see you can come then, and bring this with you." He pulled a business card from his pocket and scribbled something across the front, which Yamcha assumed was his signature. He then tore the paper from the notepad and handed it and the card to Yamcha, who folded it up and shoved it into his belt.

"That's it?" he asked, not quite believing this had happened to him.

The man peered closely at him. "Yes, that's all you have to do for now. You seem a bit insecure there, for a – what happened to your face?" He recoiled in shock, and Yamcha winced.

"I was…jumped…yesterday night, on my way in." He hoped the lie held up. How could he tell this man, the key to a job too good to be true, that he was a thief, a brigand himself?

"Kami, man!" the scout exclaimed. "Get yourself to a hospital!" When Yamcha started to protest, the man whipped out another card and began writing furiously. "I shouldn't be doing this," he told him, "but I'm going to sign you on temporarily so you can get yourself in without paying an arm and a leg. Tear it up at our meeting or give it back, but you need to get something done about your face. It looks like it hurts."

Yamcha was too numb to do much more than bid the talent scout a good evening and head out of the park himself, with Pu'ar perched on his shoulder and giving small exclamations of joy and surprise all the way back to the street. He stared at the second card given to him. Medical coverage? How much better could this get? At least he could use his money for a good room tonight. If all went well, and he actually made it on the city's ball team, he would make a bundle of money.

For once, things were finally looking up.

* * *

I have no excuse for taking so long.

And now that I've got that out of the way, thank you for waiting so patiently for this chapter. I hope it was worth it. As always, comments, suggestions, and criticism are all welcome.

-Dreamwraith


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

Yamcha let his _ki_ loose around him and reveled in the sensation he was exposed to. The wind caressing his face, the stars shining around him, the sparkling water below him reflecting their light…it was all beautiful. He could lose himself in this world that had shrunk until it encompassed only him and his immediate surroundings. It felt wonderful. He couldn't express it any other way.

Sadly, he could only keep this up for a short time. He'd be over the forest in a few minutes, and then it would be time to land. When he was certain he was far enough from any possible habitation, he might even work on his aim, throw a few _ki_ balls around. It was a tried-and-true method of stress relief, as much as Bulma's constant hair brushing seemed to be. And if nothing else, he would be brushing up on a few necessary skills.

Which made him wonder…what if the Androids never came? What if that mysterious warrior had been wrong? The preparation couldn't hurt, but would it all be in vain? Yamcha sighed as he passed over the tree line, the glittering blue of the water changing to the deep jade of foliage the farther ahead he flew. Wishful thinking on his part, but it couldn't hurt to ponder the thought. He wasn't about to abort his training and make all the time he'd put into it worthless, but the idea fluttered around the edge of his consciousness like a wounded bird. Perhaps he would discuss the possibility later with Krillin.

At the rate he was going now, he'd need to break a few trees.

After a moment Yamcha spotted a clearing and decided it would be good enough for him. He allowed the excess _ki_ from flying to dissipate in a flash of light, and he dropped to the ground, landing in a crouch. Slowly his senses began to adapt to his surroundings, and as rusty as they were he was able to locate and identify everything around him. Two owls huddled in a tree not five feet from him. Something large – a deer – stripped leaves off another tree behind him. A raccoon chattering. Crickets chirping. Running water. The earth beneath his outstretched fingers was cool to the touch. The night seemed normal enough.

He stood up hastily when the crickets fell silent. _There's someone – or something – out there._

He felt more than saw movement behind him, a soft whisper as the air was pushed aside, and he whirled around.

Piccolo neatly caught the man's fist in his own larger grip. "Need to work on that," he grunted. "Haven't you been training?"

Yamcha hadn't realized he was holding his breath until his chest began to ache. He let it out in a sigh and relaxed his tight stance. "What do you want, Piccolo?" he asked the Namek. "I'm kinda busy."

But the Namek was not known for being a pushover. "Could've fooled me."

_Great,_ Yamcha thought sourly as he felt his lightening mood begin to darken again. _He's gonna be like this all night, isn't he?_ "Look," he tried reasoning, "I don't want you to get involved with this, all right? It's not your problem."

The green warrior raised one hairless eyebrow. "You involved me the instant you set about with the intent to renovate the landscape."

Yamcha turned his back to the Namek and began to walk away, but he thought better of it and stopped before he disappeared into the woods. "How would you know that?" he asked. Yep, his mood was officially wrecked now. "And why are you here, anyway?" He whirled back around, defensively crossing his arms over his chest.

Piccolo grunted. "I should be asking you the same question. _I_ happen to live out here."

"Near that waterfall. This is nowhere near your waterfall."

Yamcha's accusatory stare almost made Piccolo laugh. But he wasn't the laughing type, and doing so wouldn't help anything anyway. "You're broadcasting your emotions, Yamcha," Piccolo told him, uncrossing his own arms and sitting down in the grass. "I could have felt you coming even if I could not sense your _ki_."

The ex-bandit relented under the Namek's glare. "Am I really that obvious?" he asked, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

"Painfully so."

"Great." Yamcha dropped to the ground as well, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. The two warriors sat this way in a comfortable silence until the human grew too anxious to remain motionless any longer.

Piccolo took note of the man's fidgeting and the defensive manner in which he acted. He might not be human, but he understood something of the thing humans called love. From the emotions swirling about the man and his general attitude thus far, he concluded that something must have happened between Yamcha and that female. This something was no ordinary squabble, either. Had Trunks' secret come to light at last? Yamcha needed to get over her, and he needed to do it as soon as he could. And Piccolo intended to do something about it, if he could. At any other time he would not have bothered, but he had no desire to see his forest and his mountains destroyed because the other man took it into his head to start firing away at the trees to let off steam. Or could it have been because Kami wouldn't stop pestering him until he did something?

_Some Demon King I am,_ the Namek huffed silently. _Blast that Guardian._

"What's bothering you?" Piccolo finally asked, and he ignored Yamcha's incredulous glance, instead catching his eyes and holding them with his own calculating gaze. The human flushed again and broke off contact, dropping his eyes to his feet.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I didn't ask you if you wanted to talk about it or not," Piccolo growled back. "I want an answer from you. I want to know why you're disrupting my meditation with your attitude."

"I don't have an attitude."

Piccolo scoffed at the man's petulance. "Your voice betrays your emotions. Start talking."

Yamcha glared at the Namek, something he wouldn't have dared over a year ago. "I said I didn't want to talk about it with you, Piccolo," he grumbled. "It's none of your business."

"Then why are you still here? I have better things to do with my time than to sit around and baby-sit you."

"I didn't ask you to."

Piccolo gritted his teeth, but he bit back his scathing retort and beat down the urge to blast the Earthling into oblivion. _Kami owes me big for this,_ he growled to himself. He closed his eyes and began to meditate, and waited for the other man to calm down. No sense in reducing him to ashes.

* * *

Yamcha took the baseball tryouts by storm.

There was no real competition for him, which he knew the instant he entered the ball field. Not one other person knew a thing about _ki_, and only a few of them seemed to have any real sports background at all. Though being a martial artist was hardly a sport…it was a way of life. Especially for him.

Thanks to the talent scout's generosity, he was able to get medical attention for his face, which luckily had not become infected. The doctor's secretary didn't seem to notice he wasn't quite a ball player yet, and somehow the entire wing managed to find out who he was. He had been cornered and pressed for autographs in every ward. Or so it seemed.

He grinned when the manager of the team called out his name and motioned him over to the tables, where he would receive his uniform. He was presented with his contract and told exactly what his new career would entail, including demonstrations, light advertising, scrimmage details, and the fine print. When the former bandit heard his projected salary, his world began to swim.

"Yamcha!" Pu'ar exclaimed softly into his ear. "That's enough for a year's worth of caravans!"

Yamcha managed to nod and act as though he was agreeing with the team manager rather than speaking with a shapeshifter-turned-ball-cap. He was certainly shocked. Good Kami, he wouldn't have to go out on a midnight raid ever again! And even better, he wouldn't have to live with Bulma and her parents any more. They were nice people, her parents, but if he was cornered by Mrs. Briefs and her plate of cookies one more time he'd leap out the window. And Kami knows he loved Bulma. Maybe he could convince her to move out with him. Who knows? She might like it. The independence would be good for her, and – dare he think it – she might learn how to cook.

"Then sign here, and we'll see you tomorrow morning." The manager held out the clipboard with the contract and whipped a pen out of his pocket for the prospective ball player. Yamcha accepted the writing utensil and scrawled his name out along the line, and tore off the bottom sheet of paper.

It wasn't until his walk home that the full realization of what he had done dawned on him. "You know, Pu'ar, we're actually independent now, did you know that?" he exclaimed, stepping gingerly over the curb and crossing the street that would lead him back to the Capsule Corp.

The baseball cap yawned and shifted back into the form of a cat. "Haven't thought that far ahead. I've been wondering what you're going to do with all the money you'll be making."

"I could go buy a city with that kind of money, name it after you."

The shapeshifter swatted one of his ears. "No, you wouldn't, Yamcha."

"I could open another Shapeshifter Academy. You could teach me how to change forms and we could run it together."

Pu'ar leaned over the front of his head until the two of them were touching noses, and she glared at him. "No. Oolong's trouble enough as it is."

Yamcha laughed and shifted the cat back onto his head. "I'm only kidding, Pu'ar. If anything, I'd build a dojo, invest in some stocks, tour the world, that sort of thing. Maybe contribute a building to some university or foundation. What a way to be immortalized. Can you imagine some poor student walking down the halls of the Yamcha Center?"

Pu'ar groaned and flopped over, wrapping her tail around his head. "You're an odd man," she declared after sputtering for a moment.

Yamcha laughed again and kept walking. "I should thank Bulma for throwing her temper tantrum, you know. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have been out in a park throwing things around myself. Do you think I should tell her later, after dinner, see how ticked off she gets?"

The shapeshifter's response was muffled in his hair. "Only if you can find a camera."

_Some day this has been,_ Yamcha grinned into the mild breeze. _The only thing that could make it better is a good sparring match with a friend. Maybe I should try to find Goku. That could be fun._

* * *

I apologize for any OOC-ness. Hopefully I justified Piccolo's intervention well enough.

-Dreamwraith


	10. Chapter Ten

_I was actually considering something along buying the whole country, except in the DB world there aren't any countries, per se. And he couldn't very well buy the whole continent._

_And as to the slowness of my updating…the most I can do about that is apologize and say that I'm trying. I work without a beta, and DBZ is banned in my house – long story. So needless to say, it's very hard trying to get onto the Internet to update. But problems regardless, here's the next chapter._

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

_Why is he still here?_ Yamcha cursed to himself. The Namek had been sitting there, holding his lotus position for the last hour without budging, and he gave no indication of doing so in the near future. _I told him not to bother, didn't I? I should have brought Pu'ar. She would have thought of a way to get rid of him without toasting herself._

The ex-bandit stood up and stretched his legs. Well, if Piccolo refused to leave, then he would. No sense in sticking around if all the Namek was going to do was be bothersome. He didn't need the added aggravation. "Fine," he huffed softly, quietly enough that he almost could not hear himself. He cracked his neck and knuckles and hunched down, preparing to hurl himself into the air.

"Don't even think about it, Yamcha," came Piccolo's rough voice. "I'll track you down and knock you out if I have to."

Yamcha froze every muscle, except the ones necessary to turn his head around and stare incredulously at the other warrior. Piccolo hadn't even opened an eye, had he?

"I don't have to. Now give it up and sit back down until you're willing to speak."

_Drat. That's right. He can read minds._

"Brilliant of you. Now sit."

"And what if I don't?" the man challenged, folding his arms across his chest and whirling back around. "Will it be one blow to the head? A few methodic taps to the spine? Or will you just pound on me until I black out?"

This time the disgruntled Namek did open one eye. _Kami, your stakes are upped. If he keeps this up, he'll be the fuel for the next Capsule Corp. barbecue,_ he growled at the older Namek, knowing fully well the Guardian of Earth would hear him. "You're pushing it, Yamcha," he snapped. "Don't tempt me."

Yamcha humphed. "Then why haven't you done it already? It would be a lot less trouble if you did. You wouldn't have to sit out here…wait a minute. Kami put you up to this, didn't he?"

Piccolo felt a sarcastic laugh bubble up in the back of his throat and bit it back. "You're smarter than you look. Any other surprises today?"

When the other man's fist connected solidly with his jaw, the Namek was indeed surprised. He flung his arms and legs out, catching himself in the air before he went flying into any of the trees, and then rubbed the side of his face. Definitely bruised. "Didn't think you had it in you, human," Piccolo muttered briefly. He darted to one side as Yamcha nearly repeated the same move. "You think you're clever, don't you?"

The human snorted and charged in for another strike. "You're a real pain in the butt, you know that?" he said between blows.

"At least you're making this worthwhile," the Namek retorted. _At least,_ he added in his thoughts. _I would've started something myself if he didn't. Good. Kami can't complain about this now. He's pushing it out of his mind. A step in the right direction. Are you watching this, Kami? You owe me big for this._

Piccolo's smile was wiped off his face by a well-placed fist. He tumbled backwards, barely avoiding a particularly large tree, and growled. "Fine. If you're going to play rough, then I'm getting serious. Hope you're up for it. Not that it matters."

"Bring it, green man." Yamcha shifted his weight forward and brought both fists up before his face, a wicked grin gracing his lips.

The Namek mirrored his expression. _Finally. A spar that's actually going to be worth something._ And he darted forward, his own fist leading the way.

* * *

He'd gotten permission to participate in the Twenty-Third Tenka'ichi Budokai. It was pulling strings with the team owner and the manager both, but after playing for them for nearly two years he was able to work something out with them. If he had known how reminiscent of the last one this was to be, he might not have signed up for it. After the events at the Twenty-Second Budokai, Yamcha hadn't been sure if he even _wanted_ to enter another tournament. Heck, he almost hadn't survived a week past that one!

That didn't mean he _wasn't_ looking forward to fighting again.

All right, so he had made a few new friends – who had technically been members of a rival school. Tien and Chaozu weren't all that bad once you got to know them, even considering that the former had broken his leg during their match. Tien had been horribly misguided, and the other young man with him. They were both members of the Crane School, and the Crane Master had taught them to be assassins. As to whom they would be assassinating, he never did think much about. It was none of his business, and besides, it was in their past. They would not walk down that path again. Hopefully.

But the whole thing didn't start to get bad until after the tournament was over. Krillin had gone back inside to find something Goku had forgotten, and he had not come out alive. In fact, he hadn't come out at all, and when they came in looking for him they had been horrified. The young man was dead. _Dead._ And his murderer was a demon.

It is said that the souls of those killed by demons never reach the Afterlife but instead are doomed for all eternity to walk the earth. Yamcha never did get around to asking Krillin where he had gone when he died, and he probably never would. It was still a touchy subject with the monk.

That demon had been sent by the King of them all, Piccolo Daimao.

Currently Yamcha was sitting on the front porch of his apartment. He was saving his money for when he grew tired of such cramped space, but for now it was actually relaxing. It reminded him of his small rock hideout in the desert. He didn't live too far from the center of the city, and his preferred mode of transportation was his own two feet. It irked him that he still did not have a good handle on flying, but he kept telling himself not to worry about it. As far as he knew, only a handful of men and women had enough control over their _ki_ to even begin learning, so he should have been proud of himself.

"Are you sure you want to go through this again, Yamcha?" Pu'ar asked, shifting uncomfortably on his shoulder. "That Piccolo-demon might still have some men around, and they'll want revenge on Goku. They might come after you again."

The ball-player groaned. This had been the only thing on the shapeshifter's mind ever since he had signed up for the tournament last week, and she would not let him forget about it. "Pu'ar," he sighed, "nothing is going to happen this year. The only people left alive from Piccolo's short-lived regime were Pilaf and his two lackeys. They aren't dangerous any more. The worst that could happen is that I face off against Goku right away and get tossed out of the ring."

"Or have to fight another Tien."

Yamcha resisted the urge to swat the shapeshifter off his shoulder. "Pu'ar," he said, gritting his teeth, "chances are that's not going to happen again. There aren't many people that strong out there any more. If anything, it would be an accident."

"If you say so, Yamcha," she replied, shrugging her shoulders. "But you can't say I didn't warn you."

"It won't happen. I'm telling you, Pu'ar, nothing can possibly go wrong this time."

"No new demons?"

"No."

"Super-strong aliens?"

"No."

"Martial arts masters in disguise?"

The ball player spared his friend an incredulous glance. "Where are you getting all this from?"

Pu'ar shrugged again. "Nowhere in particular. I wish you'd worry more."

"And I wish you'd stop worrying so darn much." Yamcha stood up suddenly enough that the shapeshifter was nearly thrown from his shoulder. "I'm telling you, I'll be fine."

"You said that last time, too."

"Quit it. Now do you want to go to the store with me or not?"

Pu'ar regarded him quizzically. "Sure. But what for? You're going back to Master Roshi's again later, right? Isn't he feeding you?"

The man locked his door and stepped off the porch. "Yeah. But I'm out of tape."

He was rewarded with a wide-eyed stare and a squeak of surprise. "You're kidding. We couldn't have gone through that much duct tape already!"

Yamcha laughed. "Wrist tape. Support." He held up both hands in the afternoon sun, and Pu'ar could see the fading bruises trailing up his arms.

"Who did that?" she asked.

"Krillin did most of it, actually, but this," and here the man traced one discolored patch of skin, "was Tien's fault. I think what I have to do is start focusing more on agility and flexibility, because brute strength isn't going to win every battle. So if I can pull a Goku and throw myself around like a gymnast I'll be harder to hit. The problem is that I'm really not all that nimble to begin with, and more likely than not I'm going to pull something. The tape will help with that, at least until I build up some wrist strength."

The walk downtown took the man and the shapeshifter about ten minutes, and the pharmacy they sought was just off the main intersection. Its tan walls stood out in sharp relief against the grungy gray and white of the rest of the city, and its stark white interior made one think immediately of a hospital. When Yamcha entered the store he heaved a sigh of relief. No lines, no delays, and the shelves were fully stocked.

"Can I help you?" asked a perky young woman at the counter.

"Sure," he replied politely. "Tape, if you would."

The clerk pointed the way. "It's down Aisle Seven."

"Thank you." Yamcha inclined his head and walked briskly to the designated aisle. "Gauze, bandages, medical tape…ah, there it is." He snatched a box off the shelf and made his way back to the cash register.

"That was quick," Pu'ar commented. "I thought it would take longer."

"So did I."

But as he was paying for the tape, the door opened and a familiar figure – or rather, two familiar figures – walked through. Yamcha gave the clerk a parting smile and turned his attention to the young man and woman, the latter of whom began waving furiously to catch his attention. He sighed. At least Bulma wasn't around this time to start chatting it up with her.

"Hey, Yamcha!" the blue-haired woman greeted, embracing him and causing him to blush.

"Hi, Lunch, Tien," and he nodded to the triclops.

Tien noticed his plight and chuckled. "Tape for you too, eh?" he stated more than asked.

The ball player gently detached Lunch and grinned. "I take it you're here for the same thing, then?"

Tien waved one hand dismissively and shrugged. "Same thing, but not for the same reason. I don't intend to become an acrobat."

Yamcha's smile grew wider. "Then it's just for conditioning, huh? Means you're coming to the Budokai, too, or I miss my guess."

The triclops shrugged again, but the gleam in his eyes gave him away. He was as wound up about it as Yamcha himself was. "I figure I might as well round out my strengths. I have to bring Lunch back to Master Roshi's anyway, and if I'm going to be there already there's no sense in wasting the opportunity. At least I'll have someone my own size to spar with."

"Are you bringing Chaozu with you?"

Tien nodded. Then his face grew pensive. "Yamcha," he said with a frown, "how did you get out of baseball for that one? Considering the risk of serious injury, I would have thought they'd have made you stay home for it."

"That's what I keep trying to tell him!" Pu'ar exclaimed, startling Yamcha.

He shot the cat a dirty look. "It was nothing short of selling my soul, I'll have you know," he replied, his mockingly stern expression sending Lunch into a fit of giggles. "The manager heard about what happened last time, and if he had it his way I'd be tied down and blindfolded. I told him he could withhold my bonus if I got myself hurt."

"And would he?" Tien asked.

"I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. I guess it depends on how far I get. I don't think he'd penalize me for making it into the semi-finals and then busting something." Yamcha stepped around a magazine rack and headed for the door. "If you don't mind, though, I have to get back home and finish a few things up. Want me to bring the drinks this time?"

The other man smirked. "Keep it clean. A drunk Roshi is a terrible thing."

Yamcha chuckled and waved his goodbyes to the couple. "No problem. See you later."

Pu'ar added her voice to his when he called back a farewell. "Did you want Bulma to come and watch you practice?" she said after they had begun their walk home. She settled down on top of his head again and sighed. "Lunch is going to be there to watch Tien. They make such a cute couple."

"Yeah. Except Tien doesn't know they're an official couple." Yamcha stopped and looked around before continuing. "I really don't think fighting is Bulma's thing, you know? She's into science and all that. Fighting really isn't the right kind of activity, if you know what I mean. Maybe I'll ask her next time."

"You should say something to her anyway, Yamcha," Pu'ar admonished, tapping his skull with her paw as if to drive the point home. "Even if she doesn't want to go, you've still given her the option. And then she can't blame you if she decides to complain about you not spending time with her. This tournament is a very big deal to you, especially since you have a fair shot at placing, and I think she should know that."

Yamcha lifted both arms back behind his head and heaved a sigh. "I know, I know. Sometimes thinking of things to do with that woman is like trying to solve a Rubik's Cube. I wish I knew where to start."

Pu'ar wisely said nothing.

* * *

Thank you for sticking with this. I appreciate it. And since it is now four in the morning, I am off to bed. 'Til next chapter.

-Dreamwraith


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

Yamcha cursed silently as another blow knocked him back through a tree. _That's gonna leave a mark,_ he thought. His arms and most likely his legs were already turning a lovely shade of purple, and the skin along his left cheekbone was rather tender. He would have a black eye within half an hour. Well, at least he would never have to explain how he acquired his numerous injuries to Bulma. He would not miss the yelling and the screaming and the why-didn't-you-tell-me-you-had-a-death-wish speeches.

It hadn't dawned on him before that Mr. and Mrs. Briefs might look forward to having a son-in-law (if Vegeta ever stooped to such a level) who wasn't around often, if only to maintain the solitude of their home. What a tantalizing concept. But they might not realize they were only trading off one troublemaker for another, if Yamcha could even be called that. He hadn't robbed anyone or held up any banks, which was more than Lunch could say. But how could they _stand_ such an arrogant, sanctimonious _moron_?

Yamcha barely managed to duck his head. Piccolo's lethal fist whistled by his ear. The human turned his awkward dodge into a roll and came up on the other side of the Namek, who whirled around and fired a small _ki_ ball into his face. He cursed and flung his own _ki_ in the way. The sudden defense sent the ball sailing harmlessly into the night sky. He never saw it detonate. Nor did he see his impromptu partner's other fist until it was a mere handspan from his nose. His heart skipped a beat.

"You need more practice, human," Piccolo growled at the astonished man. "Be thankful I am able to pull my punches."

Yamcha gulped and backed up a few paces. That had been close. But the question that beat at the insides of his skull like a caged bird was: would Piccolo really have gone through with his attack? Would he truly have caused him permanent damage?

The Namek chuckled wryly. "Is that what you think of me? Am I out for blood _all_ the time?"

"I, ah, well, that is, um…maybe…" He did _not_ want to remember Piccolo Daimao, or his minions. One demon per lifetime was enough for him, and he was in the midst of chatting with that one. No matter that Piccolo was a Namek by blood. He was a demon by heritage, and nothing anyone else could say would ever make him feel wholly comfortable around that man. Hence the hesitant response.

Ignoring Yamcha's stuttered reply, Piccolo rolled his eyes and retracted his fist. "You humans never cease to amaze me. First you desire me to leave. Fair enough. Then you attempt to take my head off. Also fair. But the problem arises when you decide to quit in the middle of it all."

"I didn't quit!" he protested.

"Your heart is not in it. You quit. And your sparring partner is not finished," he added before the man could voice another complaint. "You wonder why I would press the attack?"

Yamcha regarded the other man cautiously, folding his arms across his chest and settling into his intimidate-the-other-player posture. "Are you a warrior or a psychologist, Piccolo?" he finally asked.

To his surprise, the Namek laughed and pulled out of his own offensive stance. "What's so funny?" he demanded. "What are you laughing about?"

"You," Piccolo said simply – was that relief he detected in his voice? "I'm done with you. Get out of here while I'm still in a good mood." _Are you happy now, Kami?_ he thought smugly. _He's starting to sound like the human I'd almost come to hate. And I won't forget the favor you owe me now._

"Say what?" Yamcha could not believe his own ears. First the Namek had gone off on how it wasn't right to leave one's sparring partner with any fight left in them, then he was dismissing him out of hand? "Are you kidding me?"

Piccolo's rare smile twisted into a scowl, and the man could have sworn his stomach had just fallen out through his feet. "Do I look like I kid? Leave, already. Is that plain enough for you?"

Yamcha returned his scowl and spun himself around. Talk about mood swings! If someone thought _he_ was bad, then they'd have to be introduced to Piccolo. That was the one of the swiftest changes he'd ever seen, and considering how long he had lived with Bulma that was saying a lot. "Well, good night to you, too," he spat before leaping into the air.

Piccolo watched the man take off and waited until his _ki_ trail disappeared before he leaped lightly into the air. He folded his legs and crossed his arms and wished he could return to meditating. "He's gone, Son," the Namek sighed. "You can come out now."

The bushes at the fringe of the clearing rustled. "Fhay ah eeh – "

"Start again, Son."

Goku emerged from the undergrowth and spat out a mouthful of leaves. "Thank Kami, I said. That was pretty darn uncomfortable, sitting there. I think I sat on a pine cone or something." All this was said with a grin, the same grin that was able to either cheer or frustrate his friends.

Piccolo was not cheered.

Goku ran a hand through his hair and came up with several leaves and twigs stuck between his fingers. "What were you two doing, anyway?" he asked. "I couldn't catch most of what you said because you talk too darned low, but I heard something about a few taps to the spine and you being a pain in the butt. Am I right?"

The Namek growled. Kami, that man could be annoying when he wanted to (and when he _didn't_ want to, as well). "We had ourselves a lovely little chat-and-spar. Now, if you'd be so kind, I'd like to get back to my meditation."

"But you haven't been meditating since before you started sparring, and that was well over an hour ago," Goku complained.

Piccolo closed his eyes and ignored him. The world would have been a much quieter place without that man.

The silence did last for a few minutes, but no longer than that. "He does find someone, doesn't he, Piccolo?" the Saiyan asked quietly, his tone serious for once.

"That's what Trunks said. He'll meet some human girl, and the two hotheads will fall in love."

"Oh."

Piccolo grunted acknowledgment, but he had only one last bit of business to deal with before he could return to his routine. "And Goku, next time you and Kami expect me to play babysitter, give me more than a moment's notice. Sparring with a human was not on the night's agenda."

"What about sparring with a Saiyan?"

"No."

"Not even a bit?"

"No."

"Please?"

Piccolo cracked one eye open irritably and humphed. "Go watch your human, Goku."

* * *

"The winner, Goku! Goku is the new champion!"

All it had taken was the announcer's shrill cry to jolt Yamcha out of his induced shock. He dashed forward with Krillin, Chi-Chi, and Master Roshi and headed for Goku's broken body. Piccolo Junior, Ma Junior, had been pushed out of his mind for the time being. And it was just as well, too. The demon wouldn't be moving for a long time, if he ever moved again. Between Kami, the other men, and his own injuries, he would have a hard time surviving. More than one warrior had a grudge against him.

Come to think of it, he would not have minded the chance to give him a piece of his mind. The Demon King's reincarnation was certainly a worthy opponent, but he was too cocky for his own good. Blast, but if Goku let him live he'd come back twice as strong and twice as angry. Would the man be able to fend him off again?

Yamcha chuckled quietly and allowed Bulma to snuggle closer to him. Was the grass green? Goku could only grow stronger with age, he thought as the young man was fed a senzu bean. He did not doubt the man's ability to trounce the demon if he became a threat again.

He almost passed out when Goku handed the creature a senzu of his own.

Senzu beans, a well-kept secret, an ancient healer's remedy for the most deadly of wounds, short of death itself. The only thing on Earth that could restore those on death's door to full health. So of course, Piccolo's child leaped to his feet in one piece. If Yamcha had not been frozen in one place with fear and a bit of anger, he would have whacked Goku upside the head and gotten the rest of the men to gang up on the demon. There was no possible way he could have beaten them all, not as disoriented as he surely was.

Overall, the Budokai was a wild, suicidal rollercoaster ride. But what a ride it had been! If the ring hadn't been so completely destroyed, Yamcha would have been keen on entering the next one, if only for the thrill of the fight. It would be years before the surrounding environment would recover; craters would need to be filled in, trees and grass would need to be replanted, and there was not a single building in the vicinity that did not need repairs.

"Didn't you hear a word I said?" Bulma exclaimed sullenly, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt.

He was immediately contrite. "I'm sorry. I was kinda lost in my thoughts for a second. What did you say?" From the safety of the air space above Bulma's head, Pu'ar pressed both paws to her cheeks and stuck her tongue out at the woman. He shot the shapeshifter a dirty look.

"I asked you what we're going to do about that Piccolo creature. We can't just leave him to run amok and destroy everything! Aren't you guys going after him?"

Yamcha would have rolled his eyes if he thought he could get away with it. "Bulma, he can fly. In case you hadn't noticed, Goku's the only one of us proficient enough with it to follow the guy on equal footing. Besides, if he's been around for this long without terrorizing too many people, would it really hurt to just leave him alone? He'll get what's coming to him sooner or later."

From the stunned expression on his girlfriend's face, he would have thought he had told her that the value of pi was exactly three, rather than the never-ending decimal it was. Her jaw worked for a few seconds as she tried to choke out the thoughts in her head, and it all finally came out in one big jumble. "What the _heck_ are you talking about Yamcha that thing's a menace and it needs to be taken care of right away why are you standing here don't just stand there go and do something before I have to do it myself you thickheaded lug!"

He hadn't realized he'd been staring until Pu'ar positioned her body between them and drew his attention to her. "If you're going to fight," the shapeshifter hissed at Bulma, "don't do it here. Preferably, don't do it at all. A normal couple doesn't bicker half as much as you two do." She gave the ex-bandit a pointed glance; Yamcha began to protest but thought better of it.

In the background, Goku refused Kami's offer of Guardianship and made a face. Then he laughed and grabbed his bride-to-be's arm and took off on Kinto'un. Bulma composed herself enough to wave and smile, and Yamcha followed suit. They seemed earnest enough, but inside the man felt hollow, felt that everyone could see through the façade he put on for their benefit. He had given it his all, he really had, but apparently it wasn't enough.

It would be the beginning of a series of troubles, he thought sadly, that could end in disaster.

He let Bulma drag him to her car.

* * *

In the manga, Tien and Lunch never were an official couple. When he went off to train after the 23rd Tenka'ichi Budokai, she followed him, and she was technically never heard from again. A real shame, I think. She's a pretty neat girl.

Trunks says, and I quote, "It was a passion kind of thing," in regards to his parents. He also says that Yamcha finds someone else (whose identity is never revealed), and this was not the direct cause of the Bulma/Vegeta affair. Go watch that saga again. You might be surprised at what you'll find out.

Thanks for reading.

-Dreamwraith


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

There were times Yamcha wished that Piccolo wasn't so darned perceptive. He might have avoided that whole encounter if he had thought his spur-of-the-moment plans through. Then again, if he had known the Namek was lying in wait for him, he might not have gone out at all. But be it as it was, Yamcha left their exchange in a foul mood and ready to curse out anyone and anything that crossed his path. Vegeta included.

Unknown to the agitated human, he did have someone trailing him. Son Goku was being exceedingly cautious in his flight, but it was difficult to keep himself in the air and suppress his _ki_ at the same time. He hoped that, in his troubled state of mind, Yamcha would either not notice him or dismiss him as one of the area's many flying reptiles. Well, at least the idea was worth a shot. If he fell any farther behind, he would lose sight of Yamcha completely.

But until that happened, he wanted to keep out of sight.

He wished that Piccolo had been willing to spar with him. He was as nervous as a cricket in a young child's bug cage, and sparring always took the edge off his anxiety. Goku had no idea what to say to Yamcha, if he spoke to the man at all tonight. He had no experience with breaking up! How on Earth could he offer condolences for something he barely understood? His one and only girlfriend had been Chi-Chi…he hadn't seen her since they were both children, and they hadn't been reacquainted for even a day when they had been married. They had been together ever since, and largely without troubles. Most of those had revolved around raising Gohan, and Yamcha had no children that he knew of. That was where his limited knowledge ended.

Goku cracked his neck and kept flying. Yamcha was certainly setting quite a pace, one that would be grueling for any of the other human fighters, and possibly even for Gohan. Was the man intent on working through his problems like he would a decent exercise program, or his shadow-fighting? The Saiyan rubbed his chin and contemplated the possibilities. "Could work," he grunted, knowing the man ahead of him would never hear his voice at this distance and velocity. "Always helps me."

Or maybe he was on his way to a friend's house. Kami knew his entire baseball team knew who he was and about most of his problems. If any one of the other players found out he and Bulma had broken up, Yamcha would never see the light of day again, except to play ball. He would be shuffled from house to house and stuffed full of cookies and coffee (or something stronger, depending on the household) and cooed and clucked over like a newborn chick. The poor man would have so many people fussing over him he wouldn't know what to do.

Goku snorted. He knew what _he_ would do. If someone invited him in for a snack, he would hardly turn them down. In fact, he would be more than happy to help that person get rid of their leftovers and then some. If he knew the person, he _might_ offer to lick the insides of the fridge clean – but that was disgusting.

Still, a desperate Saiyan has to do what a desperate Saiyan has to do.

Yamcha topped one small grove of trees and then dropped from sight.

Goku followed suit. It would be easier to follow on foot from here, to wherever the man was headed. If he flew, he would be as visible as a lit candle in a dark room, and much more out of place. Yamcha would kill him for pursuing him this far, or at least give it a try. Sometimes the outcome of a battle did not favor the stronger fighter. One well-placed kick would snap his spine as easily as anyone else's, or twist his neck, or crack his skull, especially if he was caught off-guard.

The Saiyan snorted and darted through the cluster of trees. _Since when have I been so morbid?_ he wondered. _Wait…since I found out I'm supposed to be a dead man, that's when._ He chuckled quietly to himself.

When Yamcha suddenly veered off to the right, he was almost spotted. Goku had to literally dive into the trees to keep from being noticed, and he hugged himself to the trunk of the pine tree he was attached to, thinking _invisible_. "Where are you going, Yamcha?" he muttered softly.

By the time the human was sufficiently far away, the Saiyan detached himself from the tree and let his arms dangle out away from his sides. He glanced ruefully at the sap all over his gi and sighed. "Chi-Chi wouldn't believe me if I told her," he said, more to himself than to the stains he seemed to be addressing. "This is definitely an awful night."

* * *

"Six hundred…forty…two…"

Yamcha was glad he'd had the foresight to pull his hair back. Small wisps and curls escaped the tight knot to dangle in his face, most sticking to his forehead but some hanging free. He would have been upset if the entire mop had been hanging in front of his eyes.

"Six hundred…forty…seven…"

_Maybe I should get it cut,_ he thought, blinking sweat from his eyes.

"Six hundred…fifty…one…"

_Why can't she ever _listen_ to me?_

The man was completely oblivious to the small crowd that had gathered around him, slack-jawed and bug-eyed as he grunted out the number of push-ups he had finished. To them, such an awesome feat was nothing short of miraculous. How on Earth could a mere man be able to do over six hundred push-ups _in one sitting_? "That's got to be some kind of record," the gym manager commented to the ten or so people who stood around him. "Either that, or he's no ordinary man!"

Yamcha felt his lips curl into a smile. If only they knew. For he, Yamcha the Bandit, had been given an invitation to train under Kami himself, at his palace in the sky. He could hardly believe it himself! How he had merited such an invitation, he wasn't quite certain.

Well, actually, he _did_ have some idea as to the _how_, but not to the _why_.

Two women on treadmills began arguing over which one of them he'd rather take to dinner if he ever broke up with the famous scientist, Bulma Briefs, and a third sighed thoughtfully over the glamorous lives of the young, rich, and famous couple.

He allowed himself to be sidetracked a bit. _Hardly. Young, perhaps, and certainly famous. I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a journalist a week at my door, and if I have to push away another camera crew I'm moving out._ When a fourth woman joined the gaggle, he rolled his eyes and turned his amused attention elsewhere. _As if one of _them_ will be the one to steal me from Bulma. Right. Even if we _do_ fight, not a one of them holds a candle to her. Heck, even if we break up, I am _not_ going to start dating a fan. Not only will that spawn a whole host of fainting women, but it'll be bad publicity for me. When will they learn? I am _not_ cheating on my girlfriend!_

"Six hundred…seventy…three…"

It was amazing, how easily he could focus his mind while concentrating on working out. There could be a way to translate this focus to martial arts for him; he'd have to ask Kami about it. Oh yes, Kami. He'd almost forgotten.

"Six hundred…seventy…seven…"

He thought he had put up a rather spectacular fight against the Guardian at the last Tenka'ichi Budokai. Kami had been using another man's body then, so he wouldn't be recognized – and so he could get close enough to Piccolo to use the _Mafuba_ technique on him and seal him in a jar for the rest of their lives. The demon reincarnated knew, though, blast it all, he _knew_ it was Kami in a borrowed body, and he reversed the seal on its maker. Kami had shucked his disguise and allowed himself to be locked away in place of his human host. It was a brave action, what the Guardian did, but that wasn't what he was dwelling on at the moment. He didn't think he had done _too_ well when his number had been matched off against Kami's, but then again he had told him that he had talent, and if he focused more on his opponent and on keeping his form tight, he would improve greatly. Five years later, and he still remembered this.

_Heh. Considering I really didn't have much in the way of a martial arts master before Master Roshi, I'd say I've done pretty well schooling myself._

"Six hundred…eighty…four…"

He'd have to tell Bulma some time. Considering he might have to live up on the Lookout for months, she had a right to know. Then again, he might be kind enough to let him live at home and then either climb up the side of Korin's tower or fly to the floating palace. That would be preferable, since he still had a job and obligations toward normal people back at home. His manager was still miffed that a fight had broken out during their last ball game, and Yajirobe's appearance hadn't helped any. And Bulma was technically not speaking with him at the moment, though that didn't keep her from nagging him about fixing the bugs in that latest Capsule car model's pilot program.

Yamcha sighed, and the four female onlookers giggled. _Kami, can't I just throw one little _ki_ ball at them?_ he begged. _Come on, they won't feel it! I promise!_ When no promise of divine intervention seemed forthcoming, he sighed again and elicited more bubbly laughter from the women. _Are they drunk?_ he wondered. _I'm not _that_ good-looking! Why on Earth won't they leave me alone?_

"Six hundred…ninety…four…"

There was just one catch in this opportunity: he would be asked to help defend the Earth against a threat unlike any other he'd ever faced – a pair of Saiyan warriors who wanted nothing more than to use the Dragonballs for their own dark purposes and then destroy everyone and everything on the planet.

Would he do it?

Yamcha snorted. Did Kami even have to ask? He would be training with Tien and Chaozu, Krillin, and Yajirobe – if the samurai cared to get off his lazy rear and actually participate. Goku might have joined them…if he was still alive.

"Seven…hundred…one…"

Sweat trickled down his forehead and into his eyes before dripping down his cheeks, or so he convinced himself. Goku had been killed by Piccolo while holding down the third member of the Saiyan triad, his own brother. That would make him a Saiyan as well, which explained why he was able to grow so strong so fast. He would be training in the Afterlife in preparation for the battle to come. His young son, Gohan, would be training under Piccolo. If the child survived the year, he would probably be an amazing warrior. The demon was rather fanatical about power and obtaining it; the boy would be able to hold his own.

Provided, of course, he wasn't cremated in the process.

"Seven hundred…six…"

"Hey, man, you need some water or something?" one of the gym attendants called.

_You're slowing down,_ he chided himself.

One of the reasons he and Bulma weren't on speaking terms at the moment involved Son Gohan, in fact. She had been there for Goku's death, and she had watched the demon take off with his unconscious son. When Krillin had finally escorted her home, she immediately headed off to his apartment and pounded on the door. When he answered, she proceeded to berate him for not being around for "such a momentous battle and why hadn't he felt it with that _ki_ of his and shown up and tried fighting Piccolo for Gohan".

When he gave her no answer, she pushed her way through his door and demanded that he go and find the boy at once, and to bring him back home in one piece.

He clearly remembered the answer he gave her. _Are you _kidding_ me? First of all, there's no way I can stand up alone against Piccolo without being creamed, and I have no idea where Tien is. Second, even if I could, I don't know where to find him. Third_ (and he hated himself for saying it, no matter how true it was)_, if Piccolo finds something to be a threat and decides that the best way to take care of it is to train up Son Goku's boy, I'd say let him. Whatever's coming our way now probably needs all of us to take care of it. One more warrior won't hurt._

At which point Bulma had cursed, called him a few choice names and slapped him, and stormed out of his house. He had been left with a five-fingered bruise across his scarred cheek. The marks were still there, though faint.

"Seven hundred…fifteen…"

Well, he had made up his mind. He would certainly accept Kami's invitation, and he would ask Pu'ar for help in making all of his scheduled games. He smirked, and two of his female gaggle nearly swooned. The shapeshifter was becoming rather adept at playing baseball.

Ah, heck. If he and Bulma were back on speaking terms by the end of the week, he would take her out to dinner. After all, it wasn't every day that one was asked to train under the planet's Guardian. He would celebrate. If he could find Tien and Lunch, he'd ask them to come as well. He sighed. If worst came to worst, he and Pu'ar could order out. The new pizza joint down the street was supposed to be pretty good, or so he'd heard.

"Seven hundred…twenty five…"

At that point in time, he could care less what Bulma thought. It was high time for him to stop depending on her opinions on everything anyway.

"Seven hundred thirty!"

Yamcha pushed himself back and sat down amidst a vigorous round of applause. His confused gaze shifted from the gym attendants to some of the club members, all of whom seemed intent on outdoing each other in their zeal. He hadn't even noticed such a crowd had gathered! For all he knew, the entire gym had held its breath for him!

"What are you doing?" he asked nervously, swiping one particularly obstinate lock of hair out of his eyes.

"Dude, man, you just broke a world record!" one teenaged boy exclaimed cheerfully. "The manager's calling the Book now!"

Yamcha tentatively returned the boy's grin. Even after years of public recognition, he would never accustom himself to being the center of attention.

* * *

Good catch, Elenek. I didn't notice that one while proofreading. The error has been noted and corrected.

Yes, I took a while. No, I should not have. But now that I'm done working (for now), I should have a bit more time to myself, and a bit more time on my computer. I will do my best to have the next chapter out before I move out again. Thanks for reading!

-Dreamwraith


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

Chi-Chi kept her eyes pealed on the swath of beach just outside the kitchen window and sighed loudly.

"What's the matter, Chi-Chi?" the Ox-King asked, removing his helmet long enough to run his meaty fingers through the hair underneath before replacing it. "Did you forget something?"

"No, Papa," she replied. "I was just wondering what on Earth could be taking Goku so long. Yamcha could have flown around the continent in the time since he's left, and Goku knows how to teleport. I hope nothing is wrong, that's all."

Across the table from the anxious woman, Krillin folded his hands behind his head and rocked back in his chair. "They'll be fine, Chi-Chi," he said, speaking slowly to mask his own irrational anxieties. "I've been keeping an eye on their _ki_ for as long as I could spot it, and neither one of'em has done anything rash. Yamcha just left the vicinity of two very large _ki_ sources, one of which is following him. The other's stationary." He followed Chi-Chi's gaze out the window and found himself staring at the stars. "I think he's being followed by Goku, which would make the other _ki_ Piccolo. Though why he'd be spending time with _him_ right now I don't really know."

Yamcha was the older brother he never had, Krillin decided, both for himself and for Goku. When Goku had first mentioned the man to him all those years ago, during their training under Master Roshi, he held him in the highest of regards and spoke of him with nothing less than the utmost respect. Yamcha was the first martial artist Goku ever regarded as his equal, and the Saiyan confessed that even now he went to the ex-bandit for advice. Piccolo might be the tactician, and Vegeta might be, well, Vegeta, but Yamcha had known Goku longer than any of them save Bulma. He had watched Goku grow up and come into his own.

And just as if he'd been jerked forward by a chain, Yamcha had gotten to know Krillin. Just as well, too. There were some things Krillin could never speak about with the Saiyan because he was too darned naïve, too innocent. For instance…Goku had never been interested in the opposite sex. Ever. So whenever Krillin went to ask his friend what he thought about some girl he had seen somewhere, Goku would simply shrug and smile. Whereas Yamcha would actually give him a decipherable response.

The two young men got along well, interestingly enough. Krillin could always count on the scarred man to remember any one of a number of important bits of information – Goku would have forgotten them on principle – or to be around for him to vent to. They had spent many a late night in deep discussion over a pot of coffee (or stronger spirits, depending on the conversation…when Yamcha had asked Krillin what he would think if he proposed to Bulma, he had been sipping at a mug of Roshi's Finest), and in the process had become more familiar with and comfortable around each other than most brothers. He had gone positively ballistic when Yamcha died fighting the Saiyans.

Krillin sighed. He had been considering asking Yamcha to accompany him when he went searching for a car later in the week, but now he doubted the man would be willing to do much of anything at all.

He didn't blame him.

Chi-Chi gave a sigh to echo his own. "It all comes back to that green monster. First with my Gohan, then my Goku, and now with Yamcha. You're so lucky you can sense _ki_, Krillin. I wish I could keep track of my boys all the time like that." Her wistful countenance twisted into a scowl. "Then I could make sure they didn't go anywhere near him."

The monk rolled his eyes and let his head fall back. "Oh, come off it, Chi-Chi," he grumbled. "Piccolo's not half-bad once you get used to him. Vegeta's worse. And besides, it felt like Yamcha just ran into him at random. From what I can tell, they were sparring. Kami knows Yamcha would have needed that."

Chi-Chi made a rude noise, and her father choked on his latest mug of cocoa.

_Oy, this is not going well,_ Master Roshi thought, carefully studying the young woman and the monk from his seat across the room. _Goku, you and Yamcha had better get your butts back here before your wife mauls my housemate!_

* * *

As his world exploded in a violent rush of _ki_, as he felt his body being burned away piece by excruciating piece, he had only one thought on his mind: _Bulma, I'm so sorry…_

He did not speak his thought, however; he only had voice enough to scream.

The battle had begun well enough…truly, it had. Yamcha had felt the arrival of the Saiyans, had been angered when one or both of them had snuffed out all life in the city. Actually, 'angered' was an understatement. It was more along the lines of 'enraged'. What had all of those people done to deserve such a fate?

He _had_ been shadow-fighting up until that point, when he felt the surge of _ki _and resulting loss of life, like so many candles being blown out by the wind. The untimely end to his exercise left him knee-deep in a river just outside West Capital, where he turned his head in the aliens' direction. Pu'ar had already gone with Bulma to the Kame House for safety, and he had stayed behind in case the aliens decided to land close enough for him to intercept them. They had not, and Yamcha had felt a frustrated pressure build up in the space behind his eyes. All those people, all those lives…gone, in an instant. If he had been listening carefully enough, he might have heard their final, collective scream.

_What a horrible, awesome power!_

And there was still no sign of Goku.

When the Saiyans had finished with the city and began to move away, he raised his head and cursed loudly. He locked onto their _ki_ signals with his own and burst into the air straight from the river. _That'll leave a mark,_ he remembered thinking grimly, but he didn't look back. Instead he raced toward the two aliens, who in turn were rapidly approaching two of the highest _ki_s on the planet…and he was almost positive he knew who they belonged to.

Son Gohan, Goku's little boy, and Piccolo.

He silently thanked Kami for his training, knowing full well that a year prior to this he never could have flown this fast, never could have sensed or distinguished the other warriors' _ki_. He had come a long way down the road from being a bandit to being a true warrior. And now he was going to fulfill that role and defend his planet.

He cleared the air above Western Capital in record time and left his unmitigated rage behind. Battle was no place for that unthinking emotion. He did not need muddled thoughts at a time when his mind might be the only thing that would keep him alive. He sped up, forming a small barrier around him to keep the sharp wind from blinding him.

Yamcha ground his teeth together and clenched his fists. _Goku,_ he thought forcefully, _where are you? You're supposed to be helping us fight these Saiyans! We're gonna be in big trouble if you don't hurry up!_

He felt a third _ki_ join up with Piccolo and Gohan, followed by the two terrible powers that belonged to the aliens. When six other _ki_s suddenly popped up out of nowhere, he began to worry. _What is going on over there? Where did those new powers come from?_

Yamcha began to wonder how different this upcoming battle would be from his previous experiences. Heck, he was beginning to wonder why he'd offered to fight in the first place. The closer he drew, the better his sense of the happenings. The six new powers were attacking Piccolo, Gohan, and the third warrior – he thought it might be Krillin. Yajirobe would never show up for something like this, even if the fate of the Earth rested on his shoulders. Besides, what would he do, save the day?

When two other _ki_s dropped down beside the three from Earth, Yamcha knew he had to be getting close. Those two felt so much stronger than the three others from a distance. It would have to be Tien and Chaozu. There was no possible way the two new fighters could be Saiyans, right? Kami, he fervently hoped not!

The land suddenly dipped away below him, and all thirteen _ki_ powers could be sensed with more clarity. He was soaring over the valley he knew 'belonged' to Piccolo, or at least was the place he knew the demon inhabited. He remembered flying a prototype capsule jet over this valley once with Bulma; when he told her he could feel the demon lurking in the forest somewhere below them, she had panicked and hit the accelerator. If he wasn't mistaken, there should be two towering rock pillars signaling the border of the badlands right about…there.

Yamcha heaved a sigh. Well, this was it. If he was going to turn back, he would have to do so now, before the others caught sight of him.

"Hah, who am I kidding?" he grumbled. "I didn't spend all that time training for nothing! If I'm gonna go down, I'm gonna go down fighting!"

It was at that point that he spotted the small cluster of warriors among the rock columns and foothills of the barren land. The ground was scuffed and in some places scorched – _have they started without me?_ he thought briefly – and he swooped down to the Earthling fighters. "Sorry I'm late," he grunted as he touched down, coming to a standstill beside a small boy and Piccolo.

_That's got to be Goku's boy._

"Yamcha!" Krillin exclaimed happily.

Yamcha took the time to assess the small group. At the far end were Tien and Chaozu, with Krillin between them and Piccolo. The demon stood before the group, looking about as tightly-wound as could be without breaking, in the place Goku probably would have taken had he arrived. They would be following Piccolo's lead, then, as the strongest of the Earth's defenders. That meant the demon knew something about these guys the rest of them did not. Or perhaps he was standing before them to let the Saiyans know who they'd be dealing with, who the leader of this small rabble was.

Yamcha wasn't quite certain, but he thought Piccolo looked a bit concerned. And that emotion, coming from the most deadly threat the Earth had known to date, was not a good sign. If even Piccolo lost confidence, the rest of them would be sunk. Out of luck. Up a creek without a paddle.

Between the demon and himself stood – or more accurately, cowered – Son Gohan.

"Weren't there supposed to be _two_ Saiyans?" Tien muttered.

"Maybe you should complain," Krillin remarked out the side of his mouth.

Yamcha bit back a chuckle.

But then the smaller of the two Saiyans proposed a 'game', where each of the Earth's defenders would take on one of their home-grown plant warriors. Tien had gone first and wiped the smirks off their faces. He had beaten his warrior so badly that the small Saiyan had to put the useless creature out of its misery.

"Who's next?"

Krillin had begun to move forward when Yamcha cut him off. "I'll do it. You've already been wished back once, Krillin. Let me do this." The monk had reluctantly stepped back into line, and Yamcha charged the creature.

Like he had first thought, it went easily enough. He was stronger, swifter than the green fighter. He fought it with a wild grin on his face, his hair whipping out behind him. It was a piece of cake! He launched a _ki_ wave into its midsection and ground it into the earth. Landed on the edge of its crater, he smirked. "These monsters aren't as fearsome as they look. I'll take the other four on myself."

It was a terrible, terrible mistake, his underestimation of the aliens, and he realized as much when the dying creature lunged from the pit and latched itself onto the front of his body. _NO!_ he screamed silently, struggling to break free.

Their eyes locked, his with horror and the plant man's with glee, and it chuckled.

Time slowed down…

…and his world caught fire. The alien detonated itself with its own _ki_, and he was caught in the resulting storm. He couldn't scream, he couldn't see past the brilliant white of the creature's _ki_. He couldn't feel anything past the heat that seared through his limbs, his body, his very self. _It wasn't supposed to be like this!_

_Bulma, I'm so sorry…_

Then his vision went black from the outer edges in, until he could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing.

And his lifeless body fell to the charred earth.

* * *

In case you hadn't caught it in my profile, I injured my arm over the summer, just before posting the previous chapter. I didn't think too much of it until it started hurting while I was typing. I had to do this chapter in fits and bursts, literally. I apologize for keeping you waiting – especially Elenek and Thanos6.

-Dreamwraith


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

Master Roshi was glad when the telephone began to ring and interrupted the spat between Krillin and Chi-Chi. From the looks of it, so was the Ox-King. Who could have missed his heaved sigh of relief? Chi-Chi did not, at least, and she shot her father a frustrated glare.

He reached for the phone and picked up the call mid-ring. "Hello?" he asked, trying not to squeeze the contraption _too_ hard. He did not want to break it before he had broken it in. Namely, having it sent to Bulma for repairs because of the strength of the humans living in and visiting his household.

"Master Roshi, this is Bulma."

_Speak of the devil._ "Hello, Bulma dear," he replied automatically. "What can I do for you?"

At the mention of the woman's name, all commotion in the room ceased. The Ox-King's eyes were as large as dinner plates. Chi-Chi appeared torn between screaming at the older woman and asking her how she was taking it. Krillin leaned forward in his chair and allowed its front legs to hit the floor. All three of them were dumbfounded. Master Roshi put one finger to his lips to keep them hushed.

"Well, actually, I was wondering, do you know…I mean, is he…um…have you seen…how is he?"

The martial arts master squinted thoughtfully behind his glasses. If he hadn't known her as well as he did, he would have missed the waver in her voice.

_How is she?_ Krillin mouthed, exaggerating the words so he could make them out.

_I haven't gotten to that yet!_ he replied in kind. "Why are you calling, Bulma?" he asked.

"I want to know how well he's taking it."

"Taking what?"

"You know what."

"Actually, you have to spell it out for me. You interrupted my reading. I'm not in a thinking kind of mood."

"You _know_ what already, Master Roshi! Stop being difficult!"

The old man grinned. Bulma sounded frustrated, upset. If she had been just fine, she would have snapped at him right at the get-go. "No, I really don't. Why don't you tell me, dear, and I'll see if I do, in fact, know what you're talking about."

In the background, Krillin rolled his eyes.

Bulma gave no reply, though Master Roshi knew she was trying. He knew her. Her mouth would be opening and closing like that of a fish out of water. Well, it was to her credit, at least, that she was checking on Yamcha. It wasn't an appropriate action, but it was commendable.

"I want to know how Yamcha is dealing with our break-up," she mumbled finally.

The old man felt his face break into a wide grin. _Gotcha._ "There, now, dear. That wasn't so hard, was it?" he cooed into the phone.

"…No."

"Just to let you know, Bulma, Yamcha is taking this hard. But that's to be expected from a man who's just been dumped after going out with a girl for more than a decade and a half."

He jerked the phone away from his ear when the woman on the other end of the line began to shriek. "Of all the stupid…you _know_ how much we were fighting and all! You _know_ how stupid it all was! And you know, I got tired of waiting! WAITING! All this time, and he never once proposed to me! So I moved on and – "

"Bulma?" Master Roshi interrupted.

"WHAT?"

"Did you ever think that he was waiting for _you_?"

"What are you _talking_ about?"

Kami, this was earning him a migraine. "You were always the busy one, Bulma. If you called him, he'd be at your place in no time. Whenever he called you, you were usually too engrossed in whatever you were doing to bother with him. Or so I heard."

"Now that's not – "

"Bulma?"

"_What?_"

"Are you so sure it was Yamcha who was too afraid to commit?"

"I'll have you know – "

"Bulma, he had the ring."

The absolute silence that followed Master Roshi's revelation was deafening.

* * *

"What?"

Yamcha's eyes snapped open when a cool gust of air brushed across his face. They widened as he took in his current environment…a wide area devoid of life but covered with small, fluffy clouds. He was standing on a path, and though he stared off into the distance, he could not determine where it ended. To make matters worse, the entire landscape seemed to glimmer with energy.

He had no idea what, or rather _where_, he was staring at.

"Where am I?" He frowned despite himself. Either he was losing his hearing earlier than he thought he would, or his voice was echoing. And when he glanced down at himself, he took note of his clean orange gi and its lack of tears and stains. Why, it was almost as if he was…

"…dead?" He finished his own thought aloud. Strangely enough, it did not disturb him. He had expected to die in battle, but he had hoped it wasn't going to be this one. Blast Goku! Why couldn't he have arrived on time for once?

Yamcha felt a tentative hand tap at his shoulder. "Excuse me," an equally light voice spoke, "but are you Yamcha, the bandit, ball-player, and defender of the planet Earth?"

The man whirled around and came face-to-face with a pale blue demon. He blinked several times to convince himself he was _not_ imagining the creature standing before him. "Um…yes," he replied cautiously. "Can I help you with something?"

The demon grinned, revealing a mouth full of sharply-filed teeth. "I'm supposed to be the one asking _you_ that. He whipped a clipboard out from some unseen place and checked something off, presumably the human's name. "That is my job, after all. Now if you'd kindly follow me," and here the demon jerked one thumb back at an immense building that towered behind him, "I have to get you to King Yemma's office. He's been expecting you."

Yamcha felt his mouth drop open at the sheer power that building radiated, and he hastily clamped it shut. _Is this the check-in station?_ he thought, wondering how he could have missed such a prominent structure. For all its ornate appearance, he could tell it was no mere office. It certainly had great significance to the Afterlife, if by some chance it was _not_ the check-in station.

The rather small creature turned on his heel and headed off toward the building. Yamcha followed suit, sneaking a quick glance around him. What he had previously thought were clouds were being herded into a straight line by half a dozen more demons, each one similar to his guide. Come to think of it, if he was dead and awaiting judgment, wouldn't that make the clouds…

"Excuse me," he asked, "are those clouds over there supposed to be souls?"

His guide stopped and chuckled. "Yes, actually, they are," he replied. "You were one, too, until King Yemma sent word that you were to keep your body for 'services rendered'. They don't remember a thing until Yemma's had the chance to judge them. It's kinda neat, isn't it?"

"What kind of services?" The ex-bandit cast a wary gaze upon the demon's back. He didn't like the sound of that.

"Fighting to save the Earth and all. You know, for helping out. It's one of those things your Kami owes to people. So you're allowed to keep your body." The demon continued on his path without warning, forcing the human to lengthen his own stride to catch up. "It's rumored in the office that you and the others will be training with King Kai. It's a great honor, you know. Don't underestimate its value."

Yamcha blinked again. "What do you mean, others? Did the rest of them die? Tien, Chaozu, Krillin? Gohan?"

The demon snorted and led him up the steps. "Not yet. Chaozu should be coming in soon. It was very brave of him, what he did." At Yamcha's questioning glance, he added, "He went on a _kamikaze_ attack and self-destructed. Very brave of him. It's too bad it didn't work. So there's the two of you so far, and Kami will be joining you by your mortal equivalent of evening at the latest."

Yamcha was still dwelling upon Chaozu's manner of death when the demon's admission broad-sided him, and he almost tripped up the stairs. "_What?_" he exclaimed, windmilling his arms to keep from losing his balance and toppling forward.

"Yes, it's a real shame, isn't it? This Guardian of yours was a real man of action, unlike the previous lot. I guess having an alien as your Guardian helps, as opposed to a mere human."

"No, not that!" the man recovered hastily. "He's going to die?"

The guide paused to open the double door. "Yes. Whether it's because _Piccolo_," and the disgust he felt for the other demon was evident as he spat out his name, "will die fighting the Saiyans or because it's just his time to go, we aren't certain yet. Baba is trying to keep both us and her brother and company updated. It's not working as well as we'd hoped."

Yamcha dazedly walked past the demon and through the open doors. Kami? The Guardian of Earth, dead? After all this time? Ah, _blast it all!_ There would be no more Dragonballs! And with no more Dragonballs, there would be no way to wish either himself or Chaozu back or repair any damage the Saiyans might cause to the Earth. _Blast!_

"Here," the demon said as he closed the doors, gesturing to a row of empty seats along the side wall. "Have a seat here. You'll be sent on to King Yemma momentarily. Just listen for your name, and when you're called, head through the door in the side there. King Yemma's office is on the other side. Be polite and he won't make you wait too long."

"Feh," he spat, waving one hand dismissively. "Tell him he can take his time. I'm in no rush." _I'm dead. I can wait forever._

The blue guide shrugged and exited through a previously unnoticed side door. When he was certain the demon was no longer within earshot, Yamcha let out a groan and buried his face in his hands. How had this situation gone from being under control to spiraling into something so very wrong? Goku was supposed to be present for the titanic battle, and the humans had had to place their trust in the demon sworn to destroy them all. Said demon was going to be dead before nightfall. The Dragonballs would be rendered useless. And he was stranded in this strange place, never again to hear Bulma's delighted laughter, gaze into her sparkling eyes, or embrace her slender form after a long day at work.

This wasn't Heaven.

This was Hell.

He felt a small hand come to rest on his shoulder. "Yamcha?" Chaozu asked gently, "are you all right?"

The man lifted his head and sighed, staring off into space. He hadn't heard the other fighter enter the room. "Sure, Chaozu," he said sharply, unable to keep the bite from his voice. "Of course I'm all right. I get to spend the rest of my Afterlife training for battles I'll never see."

The young emperor regarded him quizzically. "What are you talking about, Yamcha? When this is all over, you can be wished back with the Dragonballs."

"By the time this is done, there won't _be_ any Dragonballs."

Chaozu frowned. "Piccolo's still alive. Kami's still alive. And you've never died before. You can be resurrected."

Yamcha slowly shook his head. "My guide told me they'd be dead before the day's out. Once Piccolo's gone, that'll be it. No more Dragonballs, no more chances. We're down by too many runs, and it's the bottom of the ninth. Game over. We're stuck here for the rest of eternity."

"I would have been anyway, Yamcha," the pale warrior replied in his soft voice. "Shenlong doesn't bring people back more than once. But you, on the other hand, shouldn't be giving up hope so easily."

The double doors creaked open, and Tien peeked his head in, frowning. "Hey, guys," he grunted. "Started thinking about what to do with all the time you have yet?"

Yamcha impassively watched the triclops walk in and seat himself a body's length away. "Sure. Kami knows we've got nothing better to do. Did you hear that we're spending the rest of eternity in training?"

"No. How did you find that out?"

"I had a talkative guide." Yamcha opened his mouth to tell Tien what the demon had said about Kami, but he found that he couldn't. Like him, Tien had someone to return home to. Though which of the two, Bulma or Lunch, would take it harder remained to be seen. "Kami's going to die," he finally admitted.

Tien's eyes widened in surprise. "Piccolo was in one piece before I…died. Did something happen that I don't know about?"

Yamcha sighed. "I wish I knew. Baba's at the Kame House, trying to keep everyone up to speed on the battle, but I've only heard what my guide in told me. I was hoping the rest of you would make it out alive."

The triclops glanced down at his body and absently clenched both hands into fists. "They gave me my arm back, at least. But what good will it do if we're not going to return? I'd almost rather have remained a soul. I wouldn't have worried about this until judgment."

The three men sat in a companionable silence for some time. Yamcha was beginning to think something had happened to King Yemma when there was a sudden commotion outside the double doors. They glanced over in apprehension, wondering what could have possibly happened to warrant such agitation. Several of the office demons had begun screaming, and the pounding of their feet down the path and along the tiled floor was heard clearly. "What are they running from?" Chaozu squeaked. "Should we be worried?"

Something stomped up the steps, and the doors were violently flung open. None could have been more shocked than the three human warriors when Piccolo emerged into the room from the vast expanse of the outside realm, dragging a whimpering demon behind him. "Is this it?" he snarled into its face.

"Y-yes!" it squealed. "Don't kill me! Please! Have mercy!"

"Feh," the green demon growled. "You're not worth my time. I have better things to do than deal with the likes of you." He lifted his muscled arm and hurled the guide out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Yamcha felt his mouth drop open and closed it immediately, before Piccolo could notice. _You've got to be kidding me,_ he thought, staring at the newcomer. _What did _he_ do to merit keeping his body?_ Judging by the expressions on his companions' faces, they were wondering the very same thing.

Tien spoke up before he had a chance to voice his objections. "Piccolo," he spat, glaring at the demon, "what are _you_ doing here? Shouldn't you be in Hell with the rest of your kind?"

Upon being addressed Piccolo spun around, and Yamcha forced himself not to shudder. The newcomer might have been fighting on their side this time, but the events of the Budokai were not so easily forgotten. Piccolo had been intimidating then; he was so much worse now. It was difficult to forget the demon's past transgressions, even after years of inactivity. He found himself hoping he wouldn't be noticed – or if he was, that Piccolo would dismiss him as 'unworthy of his time'.

The Demon King regarded the triclops with a scowl of his own. "I'm not thrilled to be waiting in here with _you_ three. Though if you want," and here he flashed Tien a wicked grin, "I'm sure I can do _something_ to remedy that situation."

"Hah. I'm not afraid of you. The only way you would have gotten up here and in line for training was if you had done something worthy of it. What did you do, Piccolo, to get yourself here? And for that matter, how did you die?"

The demon was shocked almost into silence that a mere human, no matter how brave he had been or how much honor he had shown, would dare to address him in such a manner. Piccolo growled at him and folded his arms across his chest, his anger evident in the very lines of his body. It must have been a touchy subject. "That is none of your business."

After a few seconds of silence, Chaozu piped up. "I know what you did, Piccolo. It's at the front of your mind, and you're wondering if you did the right thing." The small fighter even had the audacity to smile. "But you know that, don't you? You know it was. And that's why you did it."

Yamcha and Tien exchanged curious glances.

Piccolo's eyes blazed and he strode forward, looking for all the world as if he was about to rend the other man to pieces. "If you _ever_ read my mind again, I will make you regret it," he promised. "Telepathy or not, I – "

Yamcha sighed with relief when Piccolo was interrupted by a booming voice. "_Yamcha. Tien. Chaozu. Piccolo. You may enter now. Quit wasting my time and get a move on!_"

Piccolo shot them one last scathing look before shutting his mouth and stalking out through the side door.

"This ought to be fun," Yamcha muttered under his breath. "How do I get myself into these things?" But as he followed Tien and Chaozu through the door, his thoughts were focused on Bulma.

Kami, he would miss her.

* * *

I will not abandon this story because the muse does not strike as often as I'd like it to. Thank you, readers and reviewers, for continuing to read this. I appreciate it. 'Til next chapter.

-Dreamwraith


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

After several minutes of nothing, Master Roshi quietly hung up the phone. He trusted Bulma would do the same.

He was met with three pairs of eyes, all of which demanded answers he would not have. He heaved a sigh and pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. Surely this was not the first break-up this motley group had ever heard of! Krillin, for instance. And he hadn't carried on this long when he and Maron went their separate ways!

Then again, he and Maron hadn't been dating for half of their lives.

The Ox-King loudly cleared his throat. "So, Master," he began awkwardly, "how did it go?"

"Ehh, it went. It was nothing unexpected. Bulma asked how he was taking it, she ranted about him not proposing, I told her he wasn't the one afraid to commit and that he had bought the ring, and she didn't say a thing after that." Master Roshi chuckled. "I don't think she was expecting it. Could have heard a pin drop, as it were."

Krillin cracked a smile as well. "She's always oblivious. She never expects anything. You'd think she was at the top of the world, to hear her talk most of the time. Nothing's good enough for Mistress Bulma. Those brainy-type people don't see anything that isn't a formula or something that can be reduced to one."

Amidst the peals of laughter at Bulma's expense, Krillin checked in on Yamcha's _ki_ again. He sensed that the man was still on the move, and though he was farther away now than he had been before he was no longer flying at such a fast pace. That was good. Maybe he was calming down. Not too far behind the _ki_ point was Goku. Krillin had to mentally shake himself when he caught the other man's _ki_. Normally the Saiyan's _ki_ was so intense, so noticeable, that he would have had no problem finding him. But, for some reason, he could barely sense him. The only thing that tipped Krillin off as to the owner of that _ki_ (other than the fact that only Goku, Piccolo, and Yamcha were still awake and mobile tonight) was the odd tinge Goku had in his aura. Vegeta and, to a lesser extent, Gohan had the same feel to them as well.

The monk shrugged. _Eh, maybe it's a Saiyan thing,_ he thought. _Piccolo's aura has its own unique feel to it, too. Could be a Namek thing. But then why is Goku's _ki_ so…so…weak?_

Krillin pondered the thought, and in doing so missed a comment by Master Roshi explaining why Bulma was so uptight and the resulting slap from Chi-Chi. The only plausible reason for the "weakness" of Goku's _ki_ was that he wasn't flying after Yamcha…he was _running_. In which case his lowered _ki_ would be sensible. He wouldn't be discovered as quickly then, and even if he was noticed his presence would be chalked up to an avian or one of the swift felines that inhabited the more densely forested regions.

" – and she'd always _said_ she was a cut above the rest of us!" Master Roshi squawked.

Krillin was jolted from his thoughts and found himself in the middle of a discussion that threatened to turn ugly.

Chi-Chi loomed ominously over the elderly martial arts master. "Did she ever stop to think that maybe, just _maybe_, she wasn't good enough for _him_?" she growled.

Chi-Chi and Bulma had never been the best of friends. If it hadn't been for Goku, odds were they would have hated each other's guts. Chi-Chi was a woman of action, Bulma a woman of thought. The dark-haired woman would jump to a task before the blue-haired one ever would. Add her sensibility to the genius' ridiculous notions, and the result would be an accident waiting to happen.

Bulma had also tried glaring the younger woman down every time she approached Yamcha for even a friendly conversation ever since she had heard how Yamcha had "fallen in love" with Chi-Chi. Never mind that it had been a ruse. The scientist was remarkably dense for someone who was supposed to have a logical mind. At first Chi-Chi had not realized what Yamcha had been up to, but when she found out she didn't fault him for it. Saving one's hide was a law of the wild, and perfectly acceptable. So long as he didn't act on it now, she could care less.

Bulma never did quite seem to realize how utterly devoted to her Yamcha was, to the point that he would have gladly given up baseball and become a stay-at-home father had she wanted to start a family. For all her inexperience, Chi-Chi recognized it the instant she saw the two together. Why couldn't the scientist see it too?

* * *

"…and then he came around the corner with _Bubbles_, of all things! Kami, it was the most hilarious thing I've seen in years!" Yamcha exclaimed gleefully. He punctuated his words by waving his glass in the air.

"And what about Oolong?" Tien asked. His eyes gleamed with suppressed laughter, and it was all he could do to keep a Cheshire Cat grin from his face.

"He's a pig. He doesn't count." As if to emphasize his point, Yamcha brought his glass down upon the table with a dull thud.

King Kai chortled until he fell backward out of his chair and onto the floor, where he rolled over and pounded the paneling with his fists. "Pig, count? That's a _good_ one, Yamcha! Keep it up and you might give _me_ a run for my money!" All this he exclaimed between fits of laughter and great, gulping breaths of air.

_Yeah, Oolong probably couldn't count past eight anyway,_ Yamcha sighed to himself. Even so, he had to admit it was a bad pun, and he chuckled quietly anyway. To his left, Chaozu echoed his silent laughter, the only evidence of mirth being the slight tremors that shook his frame from trying to hold it in.

Yamcha and the others – Tien, Chaozu, and Piccolo – had been residents of the North Kai's planet for the last eight months, and truth be told, he was weary of it. There was little to do besides train, and he swore to himself that if he ever heard another chicken joke he would blast the perpetrator's head off. The bandit was beginning to think Piccolo had the right idea by meditating the months away. At least time didn't seem to wear on him as much as it did on the humans. And it left more food for the rest of them, anyway.

Yamcha's attention refocused on the group in time for another burst of laughter, and he half-heartedly joined in. So much of his time had been spent in training under King Kai that he had almost forgotten he'd had a life before this, that he'd once been alive. He had a house, a career, a shape-shifting roommate, and a steady girlfriend. He had been thinking about starting a family of his own.

And then he had died.

Truth be told – and he was only now able to admit it to himself, eight months later – that he did not fight the Saiyans merely to defend the planet. He had boasted of it, once. He, Yamcha the Bandit, was becoming a warrior in every sense of the word. He was willing to lay down his life for the Earth and for its inhabitants so that people everywhere could sleep safely at night, without a thought for the dangers that came from space. But now he knew better.

Instead, he had fought for Pu'ar and Bulma, for Master Roshi and the Briefs, and even for Oolong. He had fought for those he loved, for the ones who couldn't defend themselves. The more the thought about it, the more he realized the rest of the world could have gone to Hell in a handbasket, so long as the people he cared for stayed safe. Was that what Goku fought for? Did the Saiyan fight for his friends and family alone, or did he truly fight for the Earth?

Yamcha snorted. Goku was selfless enough for it.

"So, Yamcha," King Kai said with a chuckle, interrupting his thoughts, "what would you say if I told you we were thinking about replacing Piccolo's water with something a little more potent?"

Yamcha's reply came with all the ease and grace of a drunken monkey.

"_What?_"

He nearly fell out of his chair and only just managed to catch himself on the edge of the table. The man shot a confused glance in Tien's direction, and the triclops returned it with a bewildered shrug and look of his own. Apparently, whatever they had been talking about, Tien had not had that particular idea in mind.

"You heard me," the Kai said cheerfully. "Piccolo still has to tell a joke. That 'monkey business' comment wasn't good enough. So we were thinking that Piccolo had to loosen up. And what better way than some of that stuff Princess Snake concocts down the path? Gregory could have it here in ten minutes."

Apparently Yamcha's mouth was still hanging open, because King Kai frowned and waved one hand in front of his face. "Heaven to Yamcha, this is King Kai speaking. Are you in there?"

The man hastily snapped his jaw shut and nodded.

"Good. Then are you in?"

Again, Yamcha and Tien exchanged incredulous stares. He couldn't be serious, could he?

_Yamcha, _the triclops exclaimed, making good use of his telepathy, _I thought King Kai had been talking about a free-for-all spar, not spiking Piccolo's water. I have no idea how he jumped to that conclusion._ His mental voice sounded as uneasy as his face suggested.

The former bandit was no telepath, but he could still think loud enough for the other man – men, actually, since Tien was probably relaying everything to Chaozu – to hear. _I don't think this is a good idea,_ he told the triclops. Aloud, he said: "I don't think Piccolo would react too well to something like that, King Kai. Maybe we should do something else."

The Kai snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. He can't do anything to you up here."

"Anything _much_," Tien muttered under his breath.

Piccolo chose that moment to step in the door. The three warriors and King Kai froze like deer in the headlights of a car. All four looked suspiciously guilty, the portly Kai more so than the other three. _So much for getting water in peace,_ he thought irritably. To the men, he snapped: "What are you looking at?"

The group hemmed and hawed and stammered until he turned away in disgust. "Feh."

They continued to stare long after the Namek (Namek…demon…whatever he was, Yamcha thought, and he shrugged every time the notion crossed his mind) walked back out. "…and King Kai wants to mess with _that_?" Yamcha hissed to Chaozu.

_I'd like to think that when I see Lunch in another fifty years or so I won't be dismembered or anything equally unnatural_, Tien quipped. Chaozu and Yamcha could hear the shudder underlying his mental voice, and Yamcha had to catch himself before he betrayed his own emotions on the matter.

_Yeah, I'd rather think that Bulma won't eventually find me in some state of distress when she gets up here. I can't rely on Krillin and Gohan getting the Dragonballs on Namek for wishing us back with that Frieza creature after them. Ugh! _Yamcha found himself frustrated at his helplessness for what seemed like the thousandth time over the past eight months. The rest of them must have felt equally restless, Piccolo more so than the others. Yamcha had caught him pacing around the planet at least twice over the last week, and – surprisingly – he hadn't growled at him when confronted.

King Kai's planet must be a strange place indeed, he mused, if it could affect the most stubborn being in the quadrant so much.

Then he chuckled. Bulma could give Piccolo a run for his money. Come to think of it, so could Lunch. She had guts, that one. Heck, the girl chased Tien halfway around the world before catching up with him and latching onto him like a life preserver. Yamcha didn't even know she'd been pursuing Tien until they'd reached the Afterlife together. The triclops admitted to being the reason behind her disappearance only when Yamcha cornered him and demanded to know how the blue/blonde woman (or was it women?) was doing.

Yamcha could almost convince himself that he could wait until both Bulma and Pu'ar died, and that he'd be just fine then.

King Kai heaved a sigh. "You know what, boys," he began, emphasizing his words by drumming his fingers on the table, "I think we need a new plan."

Tien and Yamcha glanced at each other again and crossed their fingers under the table.

"I think we need to wait until he starts meditating. Less of a chance of getting caught if we're quiet."

_Thud._

Chaozu couldn't decide which of the two downed men he should be staring at. Yamcha was unceremoniously sprawled across the floor, and his eyes were glazed over in horror. In contrast, Tien's hands were firmly clenched around the legs of his chair, but he was twitching. _Come to think of it,_ the young emperor thought dazedly, _I think Yamcha is twitching, too. What on Earth have we all come to?_ For the life of him, he couldn't decide. And he was certain the other two humans would be unable to as well.

* * *

The semester is done, I have passed Advanced Orgo, and I am finally able to update. I'm a bit out of practice (all right, so that's an understatement), so I would appreciate any input on this chapter, be it good or bad. I think it's decent, but I honestly don't know. Thanks for reading!

Dreamwraith


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

Yamcha sneezed. _Great,_ he thought sourly. _I've either stressed myself into being sick, or someone's talking about me. Again._ He caught himself before he could raise a hand to his forehead.

He couldn't quite understand why he'd turned where he had. There were few humans living in the part of the forest he was currently flying over, and those that did tended to stay to themselves. There was nothing here that held any special memories for him, with the exception of the clearing he'd left behind.

Yamcha chuckled in spite of himself. It wasn't every day that he got a hit in on one of the Earth's resident alien warriors. The startled expression on Piccolo's face had been priceless, and doubly so when he had landed a second hit. "Well, at least I know the ones I get in count for something," he told himself. "Maybe he won't count us 'weak humans' out so quickly again."

Good Kami. It was shaping up to be some night. If someone had told him that Tien and Chaozu had shown up at the Kame House to check in on him and have a cup of tea in the meantime, he would not have been the least bit surprised. Heck, he would have been surprised if they _didn't_ appear at some point over the next few days for his benefit.

The man shrugged. "Eh, what are friends for?"

It was only when the first of many rounds of ammunition were fired off at him did he realize whose _ki_ he had unconsciously been seeking.

In retrospect, Yamcha supposed he should have known better. Whenever he and Bulma had gotten themselves into a nastier-than-usual row, most of the time he had headed off for either the Kame House or the Son residence. He could always count on Krillin to help him reason things out and plan some course of action. And if Krillin couldn't help, he could rely on Chi-Chi for a steaming cup of tea and Goku for an innocent, refreshing outlook on life.

Sometimes, though, neither tea nor reason helped, and he sought something a little more…exciting.

He swerved around the first volley, and he had to correct himself violently in the air to avoid the small copse of pine trees that loomed up to his left. "Lunch, blast it all, lay off the artillery!" he bellowed. "It's Yamcha!"

There was a lull in the firing. "How do I know you're Yamcha? He hasn't been out this way in months!" replied an irritated female voice from somewhere below him. "Prove it!"

Yamcha felt like wringing the blonde by her neck – yes, blonde. If the blazing guns didn't give away which personality was currently expressing itself, the tone of voice would. Meek, gentle Lunch would never have raised her voice at him, much less aimed a gun at his head and pulled the trigger. Then he stopped himself. _Has it been months already?_ he thought in disbelief. _Good Kami, when _was_ the last time I was here? And for that matter, when was the last time she's had a visitor?_

He must have taken too long to answer, because a second spray of ammunition answered for him. Lunch must have been practicing lately, he decided, for three or four of the bullets grazed his left arm. They did not penetrate his skin or even sting because his _ki_ was elevated for flight, but he yelped anyway. "Lunch, it's _me_, for Kami's sake! Stop it already!" he shouted.

"I said, PROVE IT!" came the equally-loud, annoyed reply.

The man groaned, but he complied. _Women!_ he thought irritably. _Even when you're right, you're wrong! _"Listen, then! The last time I was here was to drop you off after I caught you running from half a dozen cops with aerial backup! You tried to lift a jewelry store and ended up with enough diamonds to line the inside of a car!"

Yamcha flinched in anticipation of the next round of ammo, but it never came. Instead, he was presented with a silence so deep he later swore he could have heard a pin drop. It seemed to drag on for hours – _what is she doing down there? _he thought – until he heard a low chuckle. Immediately following that was a most welcome, reassuring noise… the soft _click_ of a safety being armed.

He let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

There was a scuffling in the bushes below him, and a dirty blond head appeared in their midst. Its upturned face settled upon his hovering figure and chuckled again. "Why didn't you say so in the first place, Yamcha dear?" Lunch asked snidely, emphasizing the 'dear'. "Come down here and let's have ourselves a little reunion party!"

Now it was Yamcha's turn to laugh. He knew what Lunch's 'parties' were like. He descended with a bit of amusement and more than a little trepidation, and he found himself hoping the thieving blond wouldn't try to serve him anything stronger than dinner wine.

* * *

Through the open telepathic link with King Kai, Yamcha was able to hear the dragon's response to Bulma's wish, and the stunned silence that followed.

"The one known as Son Goku is still alive."

Yamcha cast a startled glance off to the side, where Tien returned it with an equally shocked expression of his own. He knew exactly what the triclops was thinking because he was thinking it himself, locked into an awe-stricken state of disbelief: _Goku? Alive?_

A little over three months ago – one hundred days, to be exact – the conflict waiting to erupt on the planet Namek reached its boiling point and exploded in an all-out fiasco between Frieza and his men, the remaining Namekian people (who had been slaughtered almost to a man), and Krillin, Goku, Gohan, and Vegeta. From King Kai's planet, Yamcha and the other three Earthling warriors watched and waited for any and all new developments in the battle – no, war. It had been war.

And the Namekian people had borne the brunt of it.

Frieza lost his entire fighting squadron, including the elite Ginyu Force, but the natives of the planet were nearly extinct as a result. And King Kai, who was the guardian of the North Quadrant (so to speak), watched every minute of it. Yamcha and the others heard, and saw, his reaction to each and every death on the planet. The Kai paced frantically about his yard every time Frieza visited one of the villages, and each time one was destroyed he would groan and sink to his knees. A few times – especially when children were involved – he wept.

As profound of a reaction as it was, though, the most stunning reaction came from Piccolo, the Demon King himself.

Yamcha often caught the Namek anxiously awaiting any word of Gohan or his people from King Kai, hovering in the background or surreptitiously following the Kai in his pacing. Piccolo actually seemed concerned about what was happening, and not just about the boy he mentored. It was so…uncharacteristic…of him that Yamcha found himself wondering what had gotten into the Namek. Was all that meditation finally catching up to him? Or was it just the lack of air at their altitude?

The ex-bandit hadn't even noticed the increase in Piccolo's power until one of the villages came under a particularly vicious attack. When the slaughter began, King Kai had no need to broadcast the event to them. The violently dark aura that swirled up around Piccolo was evidence enough of it. Its intensity startled the Kai, who had long since given up on Piccolo physically training on his planet, and frightened the humans.

Even more frightening than the flashing, brilliantly dark _ki_ was the stony expression on Piccolo's face. Whereas King Kai had openly shown distress, Piccolo revealed nothing. There was less to read from his lack of expression at that instant than there had been when he had tried to hold a ragtag team of humans and hybrids against the mightiest warriors-for-hire in the universe. He said nothing, he did nothing. He simply stood in the middle of the field and _grew_. Not a physical growth, but a growth of presence, of _being_.

After that display, Yamcha hoped he would never find himself on the green man's bad side. _Ever_.

Not long after that, Gohan wished his mentor to the planet Namek (over King Kai's loud and abject disapproval), and Piccolo himself nearly succumbed to Frieza's horrible power.

_Ahh,_ Yamcha thought in retrospect, _I would not want to meet something that could take Piccolo down as quickly as Frieza did. What a horrible creature he must be!_

The thought brought him back to the situation at hand.

"He's still alive?" Chaozu exclaimed incredulously from somewhere behind Yamcha and Tien. "I thought you said nothing survived Namek's destruction, King Kai!"

"That's what I thought!" the Kai replied.

The ball player took one look at the blue man and decided he was in a daze. He hadn't looked this distant since they had discovered Goku's powerful ascension to Super Saiyan. "Apparently someone did," Yamcha added, with a quiet pride in his voice. After all, he had been Goku's first adversary, and he'd watched the man progress since that time so many years ago. It figured…if anyone would have been able to survive the planet's destruction, it would have been Son Goku.

Krillin must have been restored to life while they were stupefied, because the dragon asked for the third wish so it could return to its slumber.

"So, which one of you guys should we resurrect?" came Krillin's voice, light and whispering across the vast expanse of the Afterlife.

Now _that_ was a shock, Yamcha thought as he glanced over at Tien a second time. It shouldn't have been, but it was. After all, wasn't it their ultimate goal to be resurrected, to return to the life they had been torn from? Wasn't that the point of this whole series of events? Gohan, Krillin, and Bulma had braved the hazards of space and the unknown to find the planet Namek and make use of its Dragonballs before the galactic tyrant Frieza could get his hands on them. Why? To resurrect their fallen comrades, who had died fighting for the Earth against the Saiyans.

But still, it was a shock.

He could see, in Tien's stunned expression, that the triclops had not given much thought to what they would do after the Dragonballs had been gathered because he hadn't thought Krillin and the others would actually succeed in gathering them. Who would have? The odds of the small group from Earth triumphing over the mighty Frieza had been slim to none before Goku's ascension. Yamcha thought it was logical to not get his hopes up. He had openly admitted to not believing his friends would succeed; he hadn't wanted to be disappointed.

But, oh, Bulma… His heart thumped painfully in his chest. He had nearly resigned himself to waiting decades on King Kai's planet for her, but he hadn't thought their unique situation through until now. Would Bulma, a scientist, have been allowed to come to King Kai's planet, a sub-realm strictly for warriors?

The ball player's eyes must have glazed over, because the next thing Yamcha knew Tien was smiling at him. "Why don't you go, Yamcha?" the triclops suggested.

"Huh?"

Tien shrugged, and the motion caught Chaozu's attention so the young emperor turned around. "I wouldn't mind staying an extra hundred days to train, and that way Chaozu and I can come back at the same time."

_Bulma!_ Yamcha's mind screamed at him. But he paused before his acceptance could be spoken. Something nagged at him. "What about Lunch?" he asked instead.

Tien's cheeks reddened slightly, but his voice remained steady. "She'll understand." Then he opened his mind to the other man and spoke again. _If you see her, could you tell her?_ he asked. _I don't want her to think we're abandoning her._

_Sure,_ Yamcha joked back. _More like you don't want to be hit with a skillet when you get back late without telling her._

The triclops shrugged, but Chaozu's wide grin gave him away.

"Not a problem, Tien. Train hard so I have a good fight waiting for me later!" Yamcha saluted the other warrior and nodded to Chaozu, then said to King Kai: "Can you ask Krillin to resurrect me?"

King Kai nodded.

So anxious and so excited was Yamcha that he nearly missed the dragon's thunderous reply, booming even across the dimensions: "Your wish has been granted." As he watched in awe, his halo disappeared, and he threw Tien a startled glance. The triclops gave him a thumbs-up and nodded.

Then his world turned upside down.

_Ki_-powered flight could not even begin to compare to the speed at which he was torn from King Kai's planet and dragged through the space-time continuum. Shapes and colors flashed by his eyes faster than his brain could recognize and name them. Something roared loudly past his ears – wind, perhaps? But how could there be wind here? Or was it the sound of his own blood pounding through his veins that he was hearing?

_Kami,_ he thought wildly, _it's like I'm dying all over again, or dying in reverse!_

Without any warning, the force dragging him so fiercely through the ether released him, and he fell, real wind whistling by his ears now…

…into a pond.

The chilling shock of hitting the cold water woke him entirely, if he had been dreaming at all, and he leaped to his feet, spraying water in all directions. He inhaled deeply – he'd forgotten how sweet air could be, not that it would have mattered while he was _dead_ – and shivered. He had also forgotten how _cold_ it could be.

A shout went up around the corner of an oddly-familiar building. Yamcha frowned at it. Familiar? How?

Then it dawned on him, as Pu'ar rounded the corner first and squealed happily. "YAMCHA!" the shapeshifter squeaked, hurling herself at him with wild abandon. "You're alive! It worked! You're alive! Oh, Yamcha!"

The scarred warrior caught Pu'ar up in a tight embrace but could do little more than whisper her name and tell her how glad he was to see her. _Capsule Corp.,_ he thought, _I'm at the Briefs residence! Bulma's here, somewhere!_ He moved forward and stepped out of the pond, still hugging Pu'ar to his chest.

As if thinking her name was a cue for her arrival, the blue-haired beauty came around the corner at a run, followed closely by Krillin, Gohan, and a handful of what must have been Nameks. The group screeched to a halt when it caught sight of him, each and every person staring at the man who had apparently just materialized in the pond. Yamcha did not pay too much attention to the aliens or his two friends, though. He had someone better to watch.

His eyes lifted to meet Bulma's startled yet anxious gaze, and he felt the corners of his mouth lift in what would be one of the largest grins in his life. Bulma's face lit up, and seconds later broke into a dazzling smile. Yamcha felt his knees go weak. _Bulma…_

"Yamcha, is it really you?" the woman asked hopefully. She stepped forward as if to confirm his presence before her.

Later, the bandit would look back at this moment and hang his head in embarrassment. He had waxed none too eloquent in his reply, when one of a hundred responses would have sufficed. Good Kami, how hard would it have been to just give her an answer?

Instead, he drew a blank. "Um…"

As lame of a response as it was, it must have been enough for Bulma, for his arms were suddenly full with his sobbing, joyful girlfriend, and Pu'ar had latched herself onto the top of his head.. "Oh, Yamcha, I missed you so much!" the woman cried into his shoulder. "Don't leave me like that again! Ever!"

Yamcha wrapped his arms more tightly around her and hugged her to him. "Don't worry, Bulma," he murmured, "I won't be leaving any time soon. You can count on it."

* * *

First off, due to the onset of my thesis work, the best chance you have of catching updates on this is to put it on your alert list. My time is limited and, sadly, most of it is going into that.

Second, in response to several comments last chapter: no, there was no particular reason for King Kai wanting to get Piccolo drunk outside of wanting to see something funny come of it. The "Oolong counting" joke is a little deeper than that. Literally, pigs, being animals, don't count numbers; Oolong is a shapeshifting pig with eight fingers (at my last count, that is) and therefore probably has issues with counting higher than eight. Figuratively, Oolong "doesn't count" because he's an odd enough character that he's always one of the most hilarious things around, or having something bad happening to him that makes everyone else laugh at him. Does this clear it up a bit?

Thanks for reading!

-Dreamwraith


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

"…and I _told_ her I didn't take them, but she wouldn't listen to me. And _then_ she smacked me hard enough to bruise. I had those finger marks on my arm for a week, and the manager even stopped me after practice to ask what I did to deserve them…"

Yamcha's voice trailed off into his glass, from which he had long before ceased sipping and was now gulping. From across the handmade wooden table, Lunch shot him a sympathetic look and wordlessly offered to pour him another cup of herbal tea. They had already finished off one pitcher of _sake_ between the two of them, and the agreement to not start on a second had been mutual.

At his insistence, Lunch had also refrained from serving stronger spirits.

The blond woman understood, to some extent, what the ex-bandit was going through. Heck, she had been on a wild goose chase after Tien for ages, and she was having no luck with him, either. Yamcha, at least, had been able to date Bulma successfully for years. _Yeah,_ Lunch thought bitterly, _and a whole lot of good it did him, too. Now we're both back here in the same boat, chasing after people who will never see us the way we see them._

Tien might not have been as temperamental or as nasty as Bulma, but he was certainly just as blind.

Lunch sighed and regarded the downtrodden man carefully, reviewing the situation. Yamcha was currently wearing dress pants, black shoes, and a wrinkled white button-down shirt. The pants had been carefully pressed at one point; now they were just as wrinkled as the shirt. Both articles of clothing also sported holes and scorch marks. In addition, the left sleeve of his shirt was nearly torn off at the shoulder, and his shoes were scuffed beyond repair.

The blonde frowned and rocked back in her chair. She doubted Yamcha would have proposed to Bulma in such ragged attire; she assumed, therefore, that he had gotten himself into a fight somewhere between Capsule Corp. and her neck of the woods. But with who? There weren't too many people that would have been able to rough Yamcha up, what with him being a _ki_ fighter and all. With a smirk, she hoped that he had given as well as he'd gotten.

"I swear, Lunch, she has a memory like a seine net. Can't hold anything. She could barely remember what life had been like before Vegeta had come to live at Capsule Corp." Yamcha growled out the Saiyan's name in disgust. _Vegeta._ If he ever had a chance of being stronger than Vegeta, he would take it and personally kick the man into the next millennium. "That lying, cheating, woman-stealing, pompous, arrogant _moron!_"

Now _that_ was interesting, Lunch decided, and something worth pursuing a bit further. She sat back and let the former bandit rant it out. Good Kami was he bitter! It took him a few minutes to calm himself, but when he had, she twined her fingers together and leaned forward against the table. "So what happened, anyway, when you were wished back? You know, after Goku fought with Frieza? You didn't say much last time you were here."

Yamcha snorted. "The dragon dropped me into the pond. Bulma and Pu'ar leaped at me. Vegeta was nowhere to be found. He had stolen one of the prototype Capsule ships by that point and had blasted off into space. Why do you ask?"

_And here's where I find out how far our friendship stretches…and whether or not he's going to blast me,_ Lunch thought. Blunt as her blond personality might have been, she didn't have the heart to ask him straight-out what she meant. She paused between her words, choosing them carefully so as not to offend (much!). "Afterwards, after you were back, did you…do…anything?"

Yamcha stared at her for a moment, nearly dropping his glass from nerveless fingers, before chuckling. "_Do_ anything?" he asked, emphasizing the 'do'. He could hardly believe what she had just asked him. He knew what the thief was getting at, and the blonde's usual lack of tact amused him, but did the entire group think he slept around?

"No," he continued, taking another sip of tea, "we didn't _do_ anything." Once the words were out, however, he gritted his teeth and tried not to grip the glass too tightly. He did not want to shatter another one of Lunch's good glasses – even though they _were_ stolen property. Yes, he had stayed over at Capsule Corp. that night. Yes, he had spent the night with Bulma. They had even slept in the same bed.

But they hadn't done anything other than sleep.

During the course of that one night, Bulma had told him how much she had missed him, and Yamcha had told her how he had thought of her every day and that he was alive now only because Tien and Chaozu knew how much he missed her. They stayed up until the wee hours of the morning sharing tales of the past fifteen or so months, talking about the planet Namek and King Kai's planet in the Afterlife. Then they simply fell asleep, exhausted by the day's events and the late night conversations. Pu'ar slept on a cot against the wall, wrapped securely in a blanket. Bulma curled herself against the side of his body for comfort and for warmth, and he hugged her to him, but that was all. He had too much respect for her and for their relationship to 'do anything' before they were married.

Obviously, Vegeta did not.

"We didn't do anything," the former bandit repeated in a much quieter voice.

Even though the blonde's violent personality was dominant, Lunch's heart went out to the man. _Yeah,_ she thought wistfully, so uncharacteristic of her currently rough-and-tumble personality, _we've both been off on a wild goose chase. Maybe I should take off after Tien again before I lose _him.

* * *

The next eight or nine months had been bliss, before the fighting started up again. They'd had their small spats, true…what couple didn't? They would argue with each other for a few minutes, Bulma would storm off, they wouldn't speak for a few hours, and then everything returned to normal.

For the life of him, Yamcha did not know what he had done wrong. It had been some time after the Nameks departed for their new homeland, two or three months after his minor incident with Maron and Krillin. He remembered he had made a fool out of himself when the ditzy, blue-haired woman had started hitting on him. What she had said, exactly, when asking him out had slipped his mind, but he remembered his befuddled mind clearing enough to sheepishly agree with whatever it was. How stupid of him! Even now, he smacked the side of his head in embarrassment over his behavior. He should have known he was still female-shy. His fear of the opposite gender had only abated somewhat over the years; when the beauty asked him out (in front of Krillin, no less!), his muscles had tensed and his mind gone into overdrive. At that point, he barely could have remembered his own name, much less anything about etiquette. He responded only to his "flight" instinct, which told him – in no uncertain terms – to agree with the aggressive female before she did something he would not like.

Understandably, Bulma had not taken that well.

And here they were, several months later, still fighting over it.

"I told you yesterday night that Dad had tickets for us tonight, Yamcha!" Bulma grumbled from beneath one of her Capsule cars. "The guy's only the city's most sought-after pianist! You are _not_ standing us up for Krillin!" One hand reached out from underneath the car and felt around on the floor before coming in contact with a wrench. Both wrench and hand disappeared back into the shadows.

Yamcha stood at the scientist's feet, cracking his grease-slicked knuckles before reaching for a rag. "Bulma, he's having a rough time right now. He was planning on marrying Maron, remember? I said I'd stop by for a while tonight to make sure he was okay."

"Those tickets were expensive!"

"And I'm sure Krillin would appreciate it."

"Well, _I_ would appreciate it if _you_ would start checking with me before making plans for a Saturday night! Now give me a rag or something. I just had oil drip onto my goggles."

Yamcha must have made a disgusted sound when he tossed the rag he was using down to her, because the next thing he knew she had slid herself out from under the car and was standing before him, hands belligerently clamped to her hips. "And just what was _that_ supposed to be, mister?" she growled. "Huh?"

"I shouldn't have to tell you about every move that I make, Bulma," the fighter replied. "I _am_ an adult, in case you haven't noticed, and I'm well able to make my own decisions. And if those decisions include helping a friend through rough times, then so be it. I can't spend all of my free time following you around."

He easily caught the open hand aimed for the side of his face. After all, he had plenty of practice evading and deflecting slaps.

"How dare you!" the woman seethed, twisting her hand from his loose grip. "You owe us – me! – at least this much! Can't you get it through your thick skull?"

The fighter let out an incredulous laugh. "Are you kidding me, Bulma? Krillin is the younger brother I never had. And I don't owe you anything, anyway. I'm not the one trying to reassemble the undercarriage of a car."

He realized too late that he had made a mistake and let slip a comment that would never cease to antagonize the woman.

"What do you _mean_, you don't owe me anything?" Bulma nearly screeched. "Who do you think taught you to be a civilized human being, huh? Walking around with a rug on your back and rags for clothes wasn't something you fixed up on your own, was it? Did you sleep in the gutter for the first few months of your city life? Huh?" She spun away from him and stomped to the other side of the car. "Typical _male_. Can't even spare one thought for gratitude. That's all I ask for, isn't it? A bit of gratitude. And do I get it? No!"

Yamcha was stunned. Where did all of _that_ come from? All right, he conceded, so that maxim about women always being right might have some truth to it, but he didn't deserve that harangue!

Bulma snarled something about Krillin and 'that hussy' and left the room.

The ball player blinked after her. _Wait a minute!_ he thought. _Is that what this is about?_ "Bulma, wait!" he called, rushing after her. "Wait!"

He caught up with her halfway down the hall – an impressive feat for her, considering the length of the hall. She was still muttering under her breath about unappreciative boyfriends and all that she did for them and what thanks did she get, when Yamcha caught her shoulder and spun her around. She yelped and slapped his hand away. "Don't you touch me, Yamcha!" she growled. "I am officially angry with you, so you can forget about going out tonight."

_Good Kami,_ he thought. "Bulma, I wasn't going out tonight anyway," he said. "Remember? I thought that was what this whole thing was about. Krillin needs someone to hang out with for a while."

"That is _not_ what this is all about!" came the forced reply. "This is about you and me, Yamcha. You keep ditching me at the last second for all sorts of different reasons, and they're all a bit too convenient for you if you ask me!"

"Convenient?" he exclaimed. "There's nothing convenient about this! He and Maron _broke up_, as in 'no longer seeing each other' broke up."

"Oh, yeah? And how do I know you're not just making this up so you can run away first chance you get and hook up with that woman?"

"If I was the type of guy who did that, I'd already have done it!"

"You are _not_ going out with Krillin, and that's final!"

"I thought you said we weren't going out tonight," he said.

"Well, you're still not visiting Krillin if there's any possibility of that woman being around. I don't need you doing anything stupid again!"

Yamcha badly wanted to smack his hand to his forehead. Why – _why_ – did he always play the gentleman? It did not pay to be the 'nice guy' with Bulma. "Look," he began, exasperated, "I said I was sorry! I wasn't thinking! Can we just let it go already?"

Bulma's face screwed itself into a deep scowl. "Oh, sure, so the instant I forget about it you can turn around and do it again, no regrets!"

"Where did _that_ come from?"

Bulma whipped back around and moved away. "You know what? Fine. Go out and see Krillin. Kami knows he's more important to you, anyway. I have better things to do with my time."

Yamcha's jaw nearly hit the floor. "What better things? I thought you wanted to go see that pianist!"

"I'm going to check R&D. I have a feeling Vegeta is going to be back soon."

With that, she walked off, leaving Yamcha upset, confused, and at a loss.

And later that evening, while downing a few mugs of Roshi's Finest with Krillin to drown their mutual sorrows, he realized he had also been more than a little jealous.

* * *

Happy Thanksgiving!

-Dreamwraith


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

Yamcha stared absently at the center of the table, lost in thoughts of Bulma, when suddenly Lunch began to laugh. The noise jolted him out of his reverie, literally. He jumped in his chair. Boy, was _that_ embarrassing. "What the heck?" he yelped.

"We're both so pathetic," the blond replied. "I mean, look at us. There's you, just broken up with your girlfriend of half your life, moping around here with me, who hasn't been able to make her man of choice see her as dateable material. We're drinking herbal tea instead of alcohol, and I tried to shoot you on the way in."

Yamcha shot her what he thought was an indignant glare, but Lunch only chortled. "And then – _snort_ – you tell me that you and Little Miss Flashes-Her-Bare-Bottom-at-Roshi were never even – _ha!_ – together in a couple sort of way?"

He felt his face heating up. "No!" he exclaimed angrily. "We weren't! I respected her!"

Something in the tone of his voice caught Lunch's attention, and she stopped laughing. She eyed him curiously for a moment, during which he continued to seethe with righteous anger. Then her eyes widened, and she whistled. "No way," she breathed, digging her fingernails into the table. "No _way._ I thought this was just a relationship problem, but… Kami… She cheated on you, didn't she?" She had been trying to lighten his mood. She had been trying to make a joke. She cursed herself for not seeing the obvious signs. Her blue-haired self would have made the empathic leap in a heartbeat.

Yamcha winced.

She felt herself growing angry. "Who with? Do you know?"

"Yes."

"Tell me. I'm going to kick him in the rear so hard his guts fly out of his mouth."

Lunch began grabbing an assortment of firearms and knives, cursing the nameless man while she did so. Part of Yamcha wanted to see Lunch take a crack at Vegeta – she might actually damage him. His more sensible self knew Vegeta would probably crush her like an insect without blinking an eye. "Lunch," he said, "I'm not going to tell you."

"Why not?" she demanded.

"Because I don't want to hurt Bulma."

Lunch stopped in her tracks. Her jaw dropped open. "Wait. You mean to tell me she has _feelings_ for whatever scum had the audacity to come between you? And you're going to let her go because of it?" she growled. "Are you that much of a fool, that you will let your woman go without a fight?"

Yamcha winced again and sighed. "Yes, and no."

"What do you mean, yes and no? Which one is it?"

"The situation is very complicated."

Lunch glared at him and took a few steps toward the door. "I'll bet it is. Complicated in the sense that all of your friends are about to mobilize and knock down whoever-it-is' door. That'll make his day. Now tell me where he lives."

"No, Lunch."

"Why not?"

"Bulma says she loves him."

Lunch's weaponry clattered to the floor, and at least three of the guns fired accidentally. She did not notice the resulting spray of wood from the walls, nor the cloud of stuffing that erupted from her unfortunate sofa. "What?" she shrieked. "How? Yamcha, what the _hell_? She said she loved _you_!"

"Please, Lunch," Yamcha begged, ignoring how stuffing was settling all around him, including inside his now-cold cup of tea. "Lay off it already."

"Yamcha, she cheated on you! She's disregarding everything you both had and is throwing it to the wind!" Lunch bellowed. "Someone has to put that spoiled – achoo!"

Apparently, there was a lot of couch stuffing and wood dust floating around. Lunch gave him a confused look and blinked. Her hair was now colored dark blue. "Oh, dear, Yamcha," she fussed. "This is quite a predicament. You're such a nice man, you know. I wish there was something I could do to help you." She began wringing her hands in dismay. "Would you like me to come over and cook for you? Clean up your living room? Oh, dear. Maybe we can go out to the movies. N-nothing romantic, of course," she added nervously.

_Ah, Lunch,_ he thought fondly as he watched the woman try her hardest not to fret over him. _You're so good at being distracting. This is exactly what I needed. Thank you._

Yamcha smiled. "No, Lunch, that's okay, but thanks for the offer. I have a lot on my mind, and I think I'm going to need to take some time off, away from people, for a while. If I haven't dropped by in a week, you can come and drag me out of my bed," he joked.

Lunch blushed. "Yamcha!"

"I'll be fine," he said. _I think_, he added in his thoughts. _I don't really have an option. I do have responsibilities, my job and Pu'ar. I also have to train for the Androids. I can't let the Earth be destroyed because my heart is broken._

"Well, as long as you remember to go out occasionally," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "I don't want that mean girl to keep you down for too long."

He smiled again, although he thought it came across as rather half-hearted, and she returned the smile. "I think I'll be going, Lunch. Thank you for listening to me."

Lunch walked around the table, carefully avoiding the guns on the floor, and hugged him. "Anything for a friend, Yamcha. Come again soon."

"I think I will."

Yamcha surprised himself by actually meaning it this time.

* * *

It was a bright, sunny day when he should have realized Bulma would not stay with him. Yamcha was seated at the table on Bulma's patio with Pu'ar and Oolong. Unfortunately, Vegeta was with them. With the Saiyan within glaring distance, Yamcha's thoughts drifted off. Vegeta had injured himself some time ago when he ruined the Gravity Machine, and Bulma had immediately come running to tend his last thing the Almighty Pain in the Butt had seen was her worried face, before he had fallen unconscious.

Something about the situation made Yamcha very nervous, other than his girlfriend tending to his enemy. There had been something strange about the way her hands rested on the man's arms while she bound his wounds, something that upset him deep down inside. She was not just fussing over him. She was almost _caressing_ him. _Why was Bulma so tender in her ministrations?_ The fact that she was allowing the Saiyan to stay at Capsule Corp. with her did not make him feel any better.

"Man! I'm pigging out here!" Oolong exclaimed happily, diving into another hot dog. Bulma may not have been a good cook, but she could grill with the best of them. She was currently turning over hot dogs, spare ribs, and slices of onion.

Yamcha watched from the corner of his eye as Vegeta tried not to stare at the food on the grill. Mr. Badman himself. Hah! Bulma had given him the pink shirt some time ago, and with the yellow pants he was currently wearing, Vegeta looked like some kind of garden-variety flower. Yamcha snickered about it behind his back on a regular basis.

Suddenly, Vegeta slammed his fist on the table, knocking over his cup. The glass shattered all over the patio. He did not care. Yamcha and Bulma both stared at him in surprise. "So he failed after all!" the man growled. "Frieza's still alive! And he's coming!"

Yamcha gaped at him for a second before pulling himself together. He tried to be rational. "Wait, how do you know? Maybe it could be somebody else! Come on!"

Vegeta looked over at him, a furious glare on his face. "I know! I make it my business to know! Unlike you."

If there was one thing Yamcha did not like, besides Bulma trying to paint his nails in his sleep, it was being insulted in front of his girlfriend. That it was Vegeta doing so made him see red. He jumped up from the chair, knocking it over. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" he exclaimed angrily.

With uncanny timing, Bulma diffused the situation in the best way possible. "Hey, Vegeta," she called sweetly, "would you like more barbeque sauce on your spare ribs?"

Yamcha could not believe his eyes. The Saiyan actually turned his attention to the woman. "Sure, why not," he grumbled.

"Well, my money's on you guys," Oolong said around a mouthful of food. "We can leave if you want to fight him here." Yamcha and Vegeta both ignored him, now intent on the large _ki_ approaching the planet.

The meal was finished not long after that, and the two men took to the air. _I can't believe how fast Vegeta is!_ Yamcha thought as he followed the Saiyan. _I can hardly keep up with him!_ To make his embarrassing situation worse, he had no idea where Vegeta was actually going. For all he knew, the man was leading him somewhere out of the way so he could ditch him.

They landed after a few minutes, in a rocky clearing far outside the city. The land was barren and desolate. _Oh, well,_ Yamcha thought, _at least any fighting we do will be well away from civilization!_ He looked around in trepidation, growing more anxious as the seconds ticked by. He tried, without much success, to calm himself down.

Vegeta must have sensed his nerves and decided not to put up with them. "This is the place where he'll be touching down," he told the other man.

Yamcha turned around and looked at him. "Are you sure, Vegeta?" he asked. To his ears, his voice was an octave higher than it should have been.

"Yes, I'm sure," the Saiyan growled. "Now zip it! I don't want him to know we're waiting."

Yamcha had no idea how Frieza would be able to hear them from outer space, and he was just about to make a comment along those lines when he heard the roar of an engine and a female voice from somewhere above them.

"Hello down there!"

"It's Bulma!" Yamcha exclaimed. He was dumbfounded. How was the woman able to follow them? And in an aircraft, no less? Intellect notwithstanding, she was a normal human!

Vegeta snorted.

"Vegeta, Yamcha, I'm coming in!" she called.

The aircraft touched down a moment later, and Yamcha was confronted with an animated ball of fur. "Yamcha!" Pu'ar squeaked, flying up beside Bulma.

If they had been hoping for a warm reception, they had thought wrong. "What in the world are you two doing here?" Yamcha demanded.

"We came to see Frieza," Bulma replied belligerently. She squared her hips and fisted her hands against them, looking for all the world like she was going to face off against the alien herself. "I missed him on Namek, and I am not going to let that happen again."

"Are you crazy?" he yelped. "Do you realize what he'll do to you when he finds you here?"

"Yes, of course I do. He'll come down and blow up the planet. But I want to see him before he does it. What's so wrong with that?"

Yamcha just stared at her. He could hardly believe what he was hearing! Behind him, Vegeta was paying close attention to the woman. Whether he was amused or annoyed, Yamcha could not tell. Truthfully, he did not care. It was one thing to risk one's one life like this. It was another for your girlfriend to come along for the ride!

"Besides," Bulma added slyly, "I hear he's kinda cute."

Yamcha's jaw dropped.

Vegeta grunted. "It's amazing how every time you open your mouth, you prove you're an idiot."

By this time, the other warriors were beginning to arrive. First, Tien and Chaozu. Tien was none too happy to find Vegeta there, and Yamcha had had to dive between them to prevent the triclops from settling a grudge right then and there. "How do you stomach him, Yamcha?" Tien asked in disgust. He pretended he did not hear him.

Piccolo had snuck in amidst the arguing (or possibly before; one never could tell with him) and stood sentry on a jutting ledge nearby. His cloak billowed out behind him in the wind. When Yamcha asked him how long he had been there, Piccolo replied with, "Long enough to hear all of your senseless bickering." Then the Namek had glared over his shoulder at them.

By the time Krillin and Gohan arrived, Yamcha was well and truly freaking out. He tried his best to hide it – at least, he thought he did – until Frieza's ship came into view in the atmosphere. The memory of dying in an explosion of _ki_ came back to him in force, and he staggered backward. He knew what fate awaited them all if they confronted the monster aboard that ship.

And Bulma, by virtue of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, would share that fate.

* * *

Yes, the second half of this chapter is taken almost directly from the anime. I had to set up a scene in the next chapter here. Sorry, all.

There are only a few more chapters left – the flashbacks and the current storyline are converging. I think three chapters (at the most) should do it, and perhaps an epilogue of some sort. Let me know what you think!

I can make excuses for why I've waited four and a half years for this unexciting chapter to come out: the death of my hard drive, health problems, an undergraduate thesis, moving halfway across the state to attend graduate school, a graduate thesis… I can keep going. I won't. What I _would_ like to say is thank you for sticking with this. First time readers, welcome, and long-time fans, welcome back, and why the heck have you put up with the hiatus? (_grin_) Thanks so much for reading. 'Til next time!

~Dreamwraith


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